


Home Again

by SourisSouris



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Aging, Communication, Depression, F/M, Grief/Mourning, Loss, Love, Moving, Running Away, The X-Files References, The X-Files Revival, Trust, believe, connection, faith - Freeform, reconnecting, relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-21
Updated: 2017-01-21
Packaged: 2018-05-25 18:17:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 22,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6205624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SourisSouris/pseuds/SourisSouris
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Loosely inspired by The X-Files Revival<br/>Starting in 2016 with the hospital scene from Home Again.<br/>!!!SPOILER ALERT: contains spoilers from the revival</p><p>Hugely influenced by the great work of everyone working relentlessly to keep Mulder & Scully's love alive.<br/>Special thanks to Heater aka @snakey973 on YT for this & more...<br/>https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1qjKwK9QFDk</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. If You See Her...

**Author's Note:**

> "Love has to be fierce, it has to be strong, it has to be worthy of being tested, and endure in battle and it's going to stand up to all the forces that are arrayed against it. It takes a lot of strength and courage... And I think that's what Mulder and Scully had. "  
> ~ Frank Spotnitz ~

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ...and it’s so strange how  
>  We grow accustomed to loss  
> As our hearts get numb

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you see her say hello,  
> she might be in Tangier  
> She left here last early spring,  
> is living there I hear  
> Say for me that I'm all right,  
> though things get kind of slow  
> She might think that I've forgotten her  
> don't tell her it isn't so.
> 
> We had a falling-out like lovers often will  
> And to think of how she left that night  
> it still brings me a chill  
> And though our separation it pierced me to the heart  
> She still lives inside of me we've never been apart.  
> If you get close to her kiss her once for me  
> I always have respected her  
> for doing what she did and getting free  
> Oh whatever makes her happy  
> I won't stay in the way  
> Though the bitter taste still lingers on  
> from the night I tried to make her stay  
> I see a lot of people as I make the rounds  
> And I hear her name here and there  
> as I go from town to town  
> And I've never gotten used to it  
> I've just learned to turn it off  
> Either I'm too sensitive or else I'm getting soft.  
> Sundown yellow moon I replay the past  
> I know every scene by heart they all went by so fast  
> If she's passing back this way  
> I'm not that hard to find  
> Tell her she can look me up if she's got the time.
> 
> ~ Bob Dylan: If You See Her...  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OSpV331_2gs

 

I. 

 

"Scully, no!" –

In an instant, he's by her side, grabbing her gently but firmly by her shoulder and planting his hands around her waist, pulling her into him - a move so simple and natural, well practiced over the years... 23 exactly... He remembers doing the exact same thing very early in their relationship, back then maybe without any further significance than offering a moment of comfort and stability in many a dreadful situation they managed to get themselves into...

She walks into his arms with limp surrender, her heavy head and heart finding a momentary rest on his wide warm chest. His arms tighten around her, holding her close as she lets out little sobs, the little girl's sounds piercing his ears and heart as her tears stream freely now... He can feel his shirt getting damp where her face touches it and he leans forward, his chin resting on top of her hair, taking in its softness and the scent of her shampoo that she never changed… His whole body envelops her as best as he knows how, shielding her from any more harm that could possibly come from the outside - the harsh lights and sounds, voices barking orders regarding her mother - or rather the deceased body that used to be her mother just minutes ago...

He can feel her rapid heartbeat and catching breath, her chest pressed into his as she cries, quietly but inconsolably, his own heart constricting at the sight of her pain. He can feel it resonate deep within himself, bringing forth memories of his own heartache over the years - the loss of his parents and sister and her unwavering presence right by his side - every time, all the time, for 23 years. – An overwhelming mixture of gratitude and unspeakable sadness fills his heart and a sense of regret sets in. How could he ever have let her go...?

His hands automatically find their way up her sides, a firm, mechanical, yet sensual touch, suddenly registering in both of their bodies as strange and unexpected, yet so familiar and commonplace, embedded deep inside their bones, their very essence... Inevitably, he feels his fingers reach the side of her breasts, his heart fluttering, his body on high alert, his mind racing... So many memories... So many emotions, suddenly stripped raw... The effect she still has on him... Everything that ever mattered in his life, everything worth fighting, dying and living for, everything coming together - in this tiny frame he's holding in his arms, at long last, her body as fit as ever, her skin slightly softened, especially around the parts his hands are resting upon right now...

He can feel her shaking as the front of his shirt gets increasingly wet and slowly, reluctantly almost, he pulls away, just enough to be able to see her face, her eyes not looking at him, and plants a soft, lingering kiss on her forehead, their signature thing, the way they've both done it countless times... Her hurting eyes fly up to him, swimming in tears, breaking his heart all over again... There's that look again, one of complete trust and devotion, a silent plea to him to save her, to take away that pain... And he can't... He can't, damnit!

"Let her go..." he whispers in her hair, kissing her temples, breathing her in... Her scent... The unmistakable scent of "cleanliness", for the lack of a better word... Like clean laundry, a freshly made bed, the crisp scent of sheets on a Sunday morning, his blue shirts, washed and hanging outside in the warm summer breeze to dry... William's tiny onesies and soft bedding... *There were happy days, too... Way back when...* He's not sure if he just thought that or said it out loud... Her deep blue eyes are on his, searching his face, stopping on his bottom lip... Then back to his eyes again, there‘s a sparkle of yellow on the shadowy hazel... "YES", her whole body says... And "please"...

His hands travel up her arms, stroking her shoulders and the back of her neck, his nose nuzzling the sweet spot behind her ear... *I love you I love you I love you...* - The never ending chant in his head... Why could he never bring himself to say it out loud...? He's such a f*cking coward... It is too late now. It has been late for years... Maybe, just maybe, he could still show her... He is here after all... At last, he is here, with her, by her side, not running away for once... He rubs his thumbs on her cheeks, softly, almost absentmindedly tracing her high cheekbones and defined jawline, taking note of her freckles that he's always loved so much, her beauty mark on top of her full lip, a few age spots here and there, soft lines forming around her pretty though pooffy eyes, and even deeper lines around her mouth - noticing with a start those luscious lips that used to be so full and pouty growing thinner, none the less sensual though... When was the last time he saw her smile?

He traces the outline of her lips with his thumbs, re-committing them to his memory, because just having them photographed doesn't suffice... He's trying to remember the last time he had touched her like that, the last time she let him come this close, the last time he held her and felt that she was still his.... And the last kiss on the porch of their house, her lips tasting salty as they would now, a hand held longer than necessary, yet not long enough, a vague sinking feeling of loss that had loomed over them for months suddenly giving way to the strangest fleeting feeling of relief before the horror and panic set in, the realization of the finality, the irreversibility of their fate... The prospect of empty beds and lonely nights for both of them, the aching lack of a body next to them, the desperate clinging to the memory of each other's scent...

They needed that - she needed to break free in order to survive, he needed to lose her in order to find himself - they each tried to convince themselves rather than anyone else... All the time knowing, deep down in the landfill of buried feelings, hopes and dreams, that what they really needed - was this... The closest possible presence of the other in their lives, the beating reassurance that they are with each other, for each other and always have been...

"Katherine..."

He hears his own voice as if from a distance as the name leaves his mouth, tasting and sounding strange and rusty even to him, as he hadn't used it in what seems like forever, and he sees her eyes soften, an all encompassing sense of wonder wrapping around them like a soft warm blanket, shielding them from the big bad world...

"Yes…" she whispers - a question and an invitation at the same time...

Can it be that she could still read his thoughts after all these years....?

 

***


	2. Prelude to a Kiss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Living with him felt like dying...  
> But living without him has proven to be impossible...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes I feel..... like I don't belong anywhere.  
> And it's gonna take so long for me to get to somewhere  
> Sometimes I feel so heavy hearted,  
> but I can't explain cuz I'm so guarded.  
> But that's a lonely road to travel, and a heavy load to bear.  
> And it's a long, long way to heaven but I gotta get there  
> Can you send an angel, can you send me an angel to guide me...?
> 
> ~ Alicia Keys: Prelude to a Kiss  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mVAtWZ8SAfw

**II. Prelude to a Kiss**

 

 

**_Katherine..._ **

Her mind is blank, her body stiff, her heart numb...

There’s a roar in her ears: the rush of blood, panic setting in, the presence of death, the nearness of him...

Blindly, by touch, she steps into his open arms, allowing herself the momentary luxury of taking comfort in his strong embrace, something she’d been denying herself for so long... Forever.

She can’t remember the last time she felt safe... or at peace. Or complete...

There’s pieces of her puzzle that are him and only he can put them back together for her. With her. Those pieces are gone, just another item on the never-ending list of “ _things we lost in the fire..._ ”

How long has it been since the last time she felt alive... happy even... Months? Years.

There was a time, albeit brief, nonetheless, when she would wake up to a wondrous feeling of **_belonging_** – somewhere, to someone, of being a part of something greater than herself, greater than any truth they may ever have discovered, greater than life itself – feeling **_complete_**. Just like her body fitting so perfectly into his – wrapped so tight around her that she couldn’t tell where he ended and she began, she would lose herself in him completely. She used to love it, but lately came to hate it, because it scared her. She couldn’t do any more losing, she couldn’t afford to belong to anyone but herself. She’d long for it and run away from it – only to end up missing it so much... His strong arms holding her so close to him that she could hardly breathe, his breath on her ear and neck, his hands everywhere, caressing her skin, taking the aches away, making her all tingly in places she never paid much attention to until he – quite literally - entered her life and made her come **_alive_**.

Back then they both believed that he was there to stay... Back then everything finally seemed to fall in place and life was making sense - at last - simple and straightforward... As if anything could ever be simple with them...

Two years have passed since the last time she felt his lips on hers, a soft and warm lingering feeling like no other, on a day much like today, filled with the agony of an inevitable loss...

Is that what life with him would always be? A never-ending string of perpetual heartache...?

Back then she thought that there was no way out other than leaving... cutting the ties, freeing her hands from the cuffs that held her down, freeing her mind of the darkness, spreading her wings and taking off... But what for? What was there to run to anymore...?

 _"Don’t go,”_ he says and his words sound hollow, as it’s not the first time he’d said them. She has to make sure it is the last. _“I can’t live without you,”_ is what his eyes are screaming and she averts hers before her heart breaks any further, because she knows that it is a fact and she can’t bear to do that to him, to a man who’s lost everything that ever mattered to him, over and over again... She knows that she is his lifeline, she can see images of him drowning or suffocating without her breathing life into him day by day... But she herself has nothing more to give, not a breath and come to think of it, maybe not even a f*ck... She just needs to get the hell out of here. To save herself... Like all living things, she needs to move in order to survive...

\---

 ** _"The cure for anything is salt water: sweat, tears or the sea...”_** _/Karen von Blixen-Finecke/_

Blue silence... Bubbles in ears silencing her thoughts. It took months till she was finally able to do this – put her head under water without the numbing fear, flooding thoughts of the past that she was trying so hard to leave behind... and that she desperately held on to at the same time – a lifeline she could not let go of yet or ever... The water embraces her, stroking her curves, her breasts, untouched for months. She dives in and breaks through the pain, suddenly flying...

\---

At first there was a fleeting rush of relief and even joy...

She did it – she had saved herself from a slow painful death of living in the darkness next to someone who was burning down to ashes from within day by day...

She did it – she got out of the train-wreck just before everything went up in flames...

She was free now...

But free to do what exactly...? There was no life after Mulder...

Living _with_ him felt like dying... But living _without_ him has proven to be impossible...

\---

And now he’s here, he’s holding her close again as if nothing had ever changed, her face pressed tightly to his warm chest, breathing in his scent – the scent of his shirt (he still uses the same laundry soap she introduced him to, she notices with an inner grin), his aftershave and the distinct warm and earthy smell that’s him... The one she was holding on to so desperately for weeks and months after he was gone – after _she_ was gone, moved out to a little place of her own in central city, close to work and far from him...

She finds herself burying her face deeper into his shirt, her fingernails clawing at his back, pulling him closer, as if in fear that he’s going to disappear on her and she’s going to be left alone in the dark again, the dark that he used to represent... She’s overwhelmed by a sudden desperate need to feel him near her, to feel the warmth of his skin on hers, his hands on her body, his lips on hers...

“ ** _Mulder_** ,” she whispers into his shirt... “ ** _William_**...”

The sound of the name still makes them both shiver – she feels him flinch and an overpowering need to comfort him takes a hold of her. She wraps her arms around his waist and slowly copies his absentminded moves - up his back, over his broad shoulders and then down the sides of his body...

His body is still very firm, maybe even more so now that he has all the time in the world to go to the gym and run endlessly, as he’s been doing ever so often in desperate attempts to get away from the pain, the anger, the guilt and frustration... For over two years he’s been running away from the image of her face haunting his dreams – pained, stained with tears, her lips parted in a silent plea, her words falling on his deaf ears... He would be waking up in cold sweat every morning, momentarily confused and hoping against hope that she would still be there, breathing steadily next to him, giving sense to the world and meaning to his life...

But nothing makes sense anymore, there’s always missing pieces and holes in the road and darkness swallowing them both... It’s late. There’s nothing to be done. His shirt is soaked with her tears, her body limp on his, his hands in her hair, pulling her face up to him, gently, whispering her name... At last she looks up at him with a simple “ ** _yes_** ” that is so full of meaning. An answer to a question he has yet to ask... The only words that make any sense at all...

_„ **Let’s go home**...“_

 

_***_


	3. ATTHS (twice)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She never said she wouldn’t be coming back...
> 
> He never told her how much he needed her to stay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I followed you home tonight  
> In shadows, hidin' in silence  
> Watching you walk inside  
> Radiance swallowed in light  
> But I know, it ain't right  
> But for now... it's all I've got
> 
> No reason for alarm  
> Not here to haunt or harm  
> There's no love left anymore  
> But how can I be sure  
> Well, I know that you need more  
> But for now... it's all I'm not
> 
> Damned if you do, damned if you don't  
> Well, I wish you would, but I think you won't
> 
> The comedown is no surprise  
> Delivered in blood and brine  
> Make-believe wears a thin disguise  
> This love's just a lonesome lie  
> Well, it's broken, bottled and blind  
> But for now... it's all I've got  
> Damned if you do, damned if you don't  
> Well, I wish you would, but I think you won't
> 
> Come around, come around
> 
> ~ White Buffalo: Damned  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OJXvolCiw0w

**III. ATTHS (twice)**

 

She gets out of bed, stark naked, not giving a first or second thought to her changing body, the harsh light coming from the outside or the simple presence of another person in the room...

They’ve been in this for 23 years now. He’s seen her covered in slime, dirt and blood, on the verge of death, at the edge of reason. He saw her break down in tears after so many losses. He saw her bleeding, cuffed, tied, attacked, knocked down and beaten up... and he was always there to help her get back on her feet... He did _not_ see her in labour pains, but was there to see her face when she first held their son, the raw emotion, the look of wonder, her sweat and tears and her blood everywhere... He held her hand through the darkest times, he wiped away her tears and pushed her hair back when she was sick. There was _nothing_ they wouldn’t have seen or known about each other... Nothing to shy away from anymore...

And yet – his bold naked eyes are on her, wide with awe and amazement, she can feel them burning into her skin even as she’s walking away...

It’s been awhile. It seems like forever. But he held her close to his heart last night as she slept on his chest. He was inside her and he watched her come with his name and her own taste on her lips as he put his fingers in her mouth to stifle her cries...

There is no other place in the universe where they would be as close to each other.

She turns around slightly, feeling his eyes on her back, her flaming red hair, two years longer than he remembers, pooling over her shoulders, her hand instinctively going to her breasts...

“ _You’re beautiful_ ,” he says, matter-of-factly, in his low husky voice, raspy with sleep, and it’s the first words he’s spoken since last night. She can hear him quite clearly, yet her mind is floating, having trouble registering that this is really happening.

Two days ago she had no idea where he was or what was going on in his life... 12 hours ago they were leaning over her mother as she took her last breath, holding _his_ hand of all people. 10 hours ago he drove her **_home_** – to _their_ place...

They did not talk. They held each other for the longest time before they started to remove their clothes, slowly, mechanically, like so many times before, all the time looking into each other’s eyes, as if for approval.

 _It’s OK_ , her eyes say to him as he’s unbuttoning her silk blouse, sliding it down her shoulders... _Normally_ he would be kissing her neck and her collar bone by now, dragging his lips over her soft skin, taking in her taste... _Normally_ her hands would roam over his flat stomach before they’d reach up to take off his shirt, inhaling the smell of his skin. But nothing is “ _normal_ ” anymore and as familiar as this is, it’s also strange and distant and very tentative... It almost feels like the first time. He could swear that his hands are shaking. And when they get near her, he can feel her shiver...

 _I've missed you_ , he wants to say, but doesn’t. _I need you -_  no, everything sounds too hollow and trite. But he _does_ indeed need her, more than anything... He needs to touch her to feel alive again...

She unbuckles his belt, pushing down his pants, making sure she’s not touching him, and waits for him to step out of them as she takes off her skirt. Then they work on their socks and stockings, finally standing there awkwardly in their underwear... She still has her bra on, suddenly feeling self-conscious, a feeling she never knew around him. But that was years ago – she was still young and fresh and _unafraid_... Back then he would have removed it without questions. Back then they wouldn’t be standing here like this...

Out of the need to busy herself with something, she starts picking up their clothes and folding it somehow, before she turns around to walk to the bedroom, still in silence, stopping in the bathroom as he follows. Her toothbrush is still where she left it – as are all of the toiletries that she didn’t take with her. A half-full bottle of her shampoo tells her that he must have been using it. It makes her smile.

For the first time in years they’re brushing their teeth next to each other, in perfect silence. He wants to say, but doesn’t:  _This is perfect. It feels like home..._ Shewants to hug him and kiss him for keeping all of her stuff... For being here with her. But they don’t. They won’t. Instead they continue to brush  & floss in silence, neither one of them quite sure what to do next.

He makes the first move out of the bathroom and into the bedroom, quickly checking the bed, making sure it’s clean. He never changed her pillow-case, desperately holding on to whatever molecule of her scent might have still lingered on it. Over the first few weeks after her leaving he kept finding pieces of her strawberry hair that made him cry late at night... All this time he has been quite literally holding on to threads. And now she’s really _here_ – he could swear that he could hear her breath  & her heart beating just behind the cracked bathroom door...

He’s sitting on the bed awkwardly, wearing his grey boxer-briefs and a mask of pain. Loneliness is a slow killer. He’s trying to not think too much into this, but can’t stop his heart from skipping a beat at the thought of her staying the night...

She turns off the light and steps out of the bathroom into the now dark bedroom, wearing one of his clean shirts that she found folded in the laundry basket. He can barely make out her form in the dim light of the moon coming through the curtains, but she looks so shy and adorable and he gives her a reassuring smile as he turns down the comforter on _her_ side of the bed – the side he never sleeps on, just in case he would wake up one day and she’d be there...

She never said she wouldn’t be coming back...

He never told her how much he needed her to stay.

“ _Come to bed_ ,” he actually says those words, very quietly, and she complies, slipping under the covers & turning her back to him... They are both unaware of holding their breaths until he lets his out first...

 “ ** _Scully_** _..._ ”

He hasn’t used the name in such a long time that it gets caught in his throat... She doesn’t say anything and he thinks that he can hear her silent sobs...

He lies down next to her, spooning up against her and gathering her in his arms... He can feel her body relax and fill his form completely... His heart flutters and immediately he can feel his skin getting warm as all of his senses fill with her – the softness of her body next to him, the way she smells, the sound of her breathing, the taste of her skin... He _needs_ to taste her...

He pulls her closer, his arm locked around her waist, not daring to touch her breasts, partly because he’s not sure if she would let him, but mainly because he knows that he wouldn’t be able to stop himself and he’s too afraid of the consequences... Nothing has been said, or implied. Here she is, lying in his bed, in _their_ bed, the bed they had shared for over a decade, and he feels like a school-boy – afraid that if he touched her, she might just up and leave, or disappear on him forever...

He buries his face in her hair and feels her stir slightly, leaning into his touch... He wants to whisper how much he loves her, how much he wants her to stay, he feels as if his heart should burst if he doesn’t... But he can’t, he won’t... He wishes he could see and read her face, her mind... Propping up on his elbow he leans over her, looking at her intently, a long silent gaze, taking her in. Her eyes are closed, silent tears running down her cheeks. She’s very quiet. And very sad. He reaches out to brush off her tears with his thumb. She grabs his hand with unexpected force and holds it close to her face, her lips latching on to it in the most intimate gesture.

 _Don’t let go_ , she says without saying a word. And he won’t. He can’t. He uses his nose to nudge some loose strands of hair off her wet face, then leans in even closer and kisses her cheek, slowly parting his lips to take in her tears. He can feel her shiver and tightens his grip. They are so good at this... At being together like this. Why would they ever have parted....? He can’t remember anymore. He can’t remember the darkness when she radiates light into his life. He can’t remember solitude and heartache. All there is is the taste of her skin on his tongue, salty with tears, but with the sweetest, softest undertones...

She doesn’t move, just continues to hold his hand close to her lips, which is encouragement enough for him to keep going. He’s demonstrating a great amount of self restraint that he’d mastered over the years before they got together – and seemingly lost the moment she set foot into his door... But he _is_ in control now, knowing damn well how much is at stake... He’s kissing her slowly, gently, trying to rein in his flaming passion, bursting in out of nowhere... And there he thought he was dead inside...

His lips are soft and warm and wet, leaving a trail on her neck as he works his way down her collar bone. It feels strange, surreal, and so damn good... Her body is so heavy and she doesn’t think she could move if she wanted to. But she doesn’t. She wants to stay like this forever, wrapped in his arms, surrendered to his lips... They are on her shoulder now, nudging her (his) shirt out of the way... She wants to tell him to just take it off... she wants it off. She wants to feel his skin on hers... But her body is betraying her, drifting off to sleep... or the semi-conscious state of mind where dreams like this happen... Because this can’t be real... Not after all this time...

And then, in an instant, his lips are on hers, making her come alive, alert, her senses heightened, transfixed on only him – his body hovering over hers, his forehead touching hers, his hands now ever so slowly, tentatively copying her curves... He never once told her he wanted her. He never had to in the past. But when he stopped coming to bed with her, she was afraid that he never would anymore... That those days were gone and the book was closed... But there is nothing closed between them – and she’s finally parting her lips to let him in – yet again – in all senses of the word...

His tongue darts out without hesitation and there’s a small burst of fire when it makes contact with hers... She lets out a moan, a sigh pregnant with meaning – letting go of the frustration, the sadness, the past... if only momentarily... This is what they both need now and they would be fools to deny to each other, to themselves, the only comfort they have to offer. The nearness of the other, on levels only they know...

They are lost in the moment, in each other, not aware of the passing of time, not ever stopping, both afraid of the possibilities of changing their minds... The kisses are desperate now and he stifles a hiss of pain as she bites down on his lower lip, hard, actually drawing blood...

His blood tastes coppery on her tongue as she licks his lip clean, her eyes finally finding his with a sheepish apologetic look. She has no idea how it happened, she had never been rough with him, not like that, anyway – but something inside her snapped and she needed to taste the very essence of him... It _’s OK_ , his eyes say again, it' _s more than OK, it’s fantastic,_ says the pounding of his heart in his head as she pulls him in to deepen the kiss and he could swear that she whispered his name into his mouth...

“ ** _Mulder_** ,” she says – in actual words, catching her breath... And then in her eyes: _I_ _need you_.

 

***


	4. It's Not Dark Yet, But It's Getting There...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He tried hard to imprint the memories of that night in his mind so that he could replay them later, not knowing back then how much he’d hold on to them in many a day of separation, loneliness and heartache that were to come...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shadows are fallin' and I've been here all day  
> It's too hot to sleep and time is runnin' away  
> Feel like my soul has turned into steel  
> I've still got the scars that the sun didn't heal  
> There's not even room enough to be anywhere  
> It's not dark yet but it's gettin' there.
> 
> Well, my sense of humanity has gone down the drain  
> Behind every beautiful thing there's been some kind of pain  
> She wrote me a letter and she wrote it so kind  
> She put down in writin' what was in her mind  
> I just don't see why I should even care  
> It's not dark yet but it's gettin' there.
> 
> Well, I've been to London and I been to gay Paris  
> I've followed the river and I got to the sea  
> I've been down on the bottom of the world full of lies  
> I ain't lookin' for nothin' in anyone's eyes  
> Sometimes my burden is more than I can bear  
> It's not dark yet but it's gettin' there.
> 
> I was born here and I'll die here against my will  
> I know it looks like I'm movin' but I'm standin' still  
> Every nerve in my body is so naked and numb  
> I can't even remember what it was I came here to get away from  
> Don't even hear the murmur of a prayer  
> It's not dark yet but it's gettin' there.
> 
> ~ Bob Dylan: It's Not Dark Yet...  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RZgBhyU4IvQ

**IV. It’s Not Dark Yet, But It’s Getting There...**

 

“ _ **Go in peace – but for f*ck's sake , GO**_.”

And then she’s gone...

_For f*ck’s sake!_

She leaned in to kiss him goodbye and he knew better than to try talking her into staying...

What he doesn’t know is that she wants him to... She wants him to _try_ – to give her good enough reasons _not_ to go... She needs to hear them one more time... She’s annoyed by that thought, of _needing_ him. She didn’t use to be like that, she used to pride herself for never needing anyone. But then _he_ came into her life and she came to depend on him in ways that scared her. She tried to get away, and she might have succeeded for a while. But now she feels old and tired and yes, _needy_ , and she hates herself for that. She doesn’t want to become clingy and dependent again. And she hates _him_ for making her that way... She cannot allow him to be her sole purpose in life... But it is too late now... it’s been too late for years. There is too much they both have lost. And now with her mother gone and both of her brothers useless, he _is_ her only person in the entire world. He’s the only one who has called her by name. They have no other purpose than one another, no one else on this whole damn planet, and she knows it...

What she really wants is for him to say “ _It’s OK to need someone_.” And “ _I am here for you_.” And “ _We are in this together_.” – Yes, she is fifty two years old and she needs to hear those words, because she never has... He sucked at words. Damn, he sucked at relationships. At _being with someone_. But he _was_ there for her. And he was all she got. So what the hell was she still running for?

\---

The air is cold and bitter, gnawing at her bones. She pulls her coat closer to her aching body as she runs down the stairs to her car, not looking back, not wanting to see what she knows she would, his broken frame and pitiful face through the torn screen door, the empty look in his haunting eyes, those very same eyes that were so full of life and darkened with desire when they locked with hers late last night and early morning just before dawn, the very same lips that called out her name as his forehead leaned on hers in a moment of absolute unity, the lips that she can still taste on hers as she licks them absentmindedly, recalling the taste of his blood while pushing the gas pedal to the floor to get the hell out of here before she changes her mind...

**_Goddamnit_   _!_**

He lets the door slam behind him as he turns to face the now empty house, reliving the pain of the first time she left and it seems to hit him with double the force. As if this whole time he had been holding on to some kind of _hope_ – a hope that she fulfilled when she let him take her home last night – only to take it away again...

He walks into the bedroom, bracing himself for what he knows he will find there – emptiness so vast that it’s swallowed all of the glory of this morning, of waking to the familiar pressure on his chest, his face covered with long messy hair, little hands clawing at his ribs... He held his breath, not quite believing that this was really happening. After all those lonely nights of him cursing the darkness that he had lost her to, there was light – in her eyes as she blinked them open and _smiled_ at him... And instantly he was overwhelmed with love and gratitude for her simple presence in his life – in this very moment, in his arms...

She was soft and warm and languid as a cat and she let him kiss her endlessly and hold her close and flip her over and make sweet love to her – the way they did the night they had conceived their son, their first night together, 16 years ago...

\---

His mind flashes to a very young Scully resting in his arms peacefully as he carried her to his bedroom after lifting her up from his old leather couch where she fell asleep on his shoulder. He can still feel her weight in his arms – she feels fragile and ethereal and he’s so afraid to wake her... Afraid of what might happen if he did – would she stay – would she run away...? And what would happen if they kissed...? The eternal nagging question, always on his mind, always on his lips... He brushes them on her temples as he lays her down on his bed, softly tucking her in under the covers, tucking a stray strand of red hair behind her little ear, resting his eyes on her beautiful face before lowering himself next to her, both of them still fully dressed, just a rare moment of repose in both of their lives that he’s trying to cherish while it lasts...

He had spent the night awake, just sitting in the dark with her warm body snuggled close to him, watching her sleep... To this day he can’t think of a more profound, intimate moment in his life.

And like last night her eyes flew open just before dawn, a confused look crossing her face for a split second to find his eyes looking at her... There’s that and then a moment of realization as she takes in her surroundings, finally resting her eyes on his and to his surprise and enormous relief – there is _no fear_ reflecting in them...

\---

She was the one to reach out to him first... Come to think of it – maybe that’s the way it had always been with them. She was always the strong one - so much braver and _unafraid_. But it takes an enormous amount of courage to admit to weakness - to admit, to themselves and each other, that they in fact _need_ each other. In ways that neither one of them let cross their minds before. – So she was the one to cross the distance and reach out to his face, as if making sure that he was really there, and she smiled at the confirmation. She then mumbled his name in the sweetest sleepy little girl voice and inched closer to him... That’s when he finally gathered all the courage that he’d been working up for years to lean in and kiss her on her lips...

And once again she didn’t flinch or act surprised, she simply met his mouth with hers, as if this was the most ordinary act, as if this was what she’d expected all along, her lips soft and sweet and warm, parting slowly to let him in... He felt a sense of wonder wash over him as their tongues finally met – and he was gone...

\---

He tried hard to imprint the memories of that night in his mind so that he could replay them later, not knowing back then how much he’d hold on to them in many a day of separation, loneliness and heartache that were to come...

There were very clear images of the curves of her body that he caressed with his eyes and his hands, the softness of her skin, the milky glow in the darkened room, her deep blue eyes darkened with desire and ablaze with wonder. The warmth inside her, her fingertips in his hair, her teeth on his neck, her breath on his face, mumbled words and called out names, names they never used in the outer world... There was her hair all over his face, their tangled legs and tangled sheets, the sound of their breath and their hearts pounding in the stillness of the night, the stillness of remembering.

Then there was a blur of emotion, indescribable, but burnt deep under his skin – their untamed need and desperation to be near the other, the depth of care they felt for one another and the amazement of how perfect they seemed to be with and for each other, together in that moment in time... and then there was the other feeling – the vague fear of losing her that had settled in his heart to stay...

They cried that night. After their cries of passion subsided in the soft morning light, they held each other close, tears rolling down their cheeks in lieu of sweet words... It felt as if the last wall separating them had fallen crashing down, finally letting each other in completely... And in that moment they knew that there was no turning back – they were **_with each other, for each other_** for the rest of their days...

\---

Last night they cried for William. They cried for each other and for everything that had been lost. They cried for their broken love and broken hearts, broken promises, though never spoken, and broken walls that they could feel being erected again with every breath that they took apart.

 

***

 


	5. Run, Run, Run...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She did kiss him though, briefly on the lips, as if an afterthought;  
> he did not say anything and it hurt the most.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was feeling sad,  
> Can't help looking back  
> Highways flew by...  
> Run, run, run away  
> No sense of time  
> I'd like you to stay,  
> Want to keep you inside
> 
> Run, run, run away  
> Lost, lost, lost my mind  
> (I'd) like you to stay  
> Want you to be my prize
> 
> All along, not so strong without these open arms  
> Hold on tight  
> All along, not that strong without these open arms  
> Lie beside  
> All along, not so strong without these open arms  
> Ride beside
> 
> Run, run, run away  
> Lost, lost, lost my mind  
> Like you to stay  
> Want you to be my prize
> 
> ~ Yeah Yeah Yeahs: Runaway  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Z9eBT7jnQg0

He throws himself on the bed, burying his face in _her_ pillow, now once again filled with her lovely scent, and he finally allows himself to cry, sobbing loudly, inconsolably, like he only had a few times in his life – and most of those times she was right there by his side, her arms around him, her hands in his hair, pressing his head to her chest and comforting him like a baby as he cried bitter tears, unashamed, broken and betrayed by the injustice of the world...

\---

She’s driving like crazy, breaking all speed limits, with just the thought of getting away. Her windows are down so that she can breathe, the red mess of her hair tangled by the cold wind getting in her already unseeing eyes... She doesn’t care. She stopped caring the second she heard the screen door slam behind her back, the sound of it triggering the most mundane of memories – all the times they had kissed good-bye on the porch, sometimes briefly and mechanically, seeing each other off to work, sometimes with urgency and despair, the fear of the ever lurking possibilities of losing the other taking over. Then there were the sloppy kisses hello when rushing in with groceries, the door always slamming behind them with the same sound... There were also times when groceries were dropped in the hall and long forgotten as they hastily made their way inside to welcome each other properly...

She can feel the cold air on her face, reminding her of the way it felt and smelled when they used to walk into a cold starry night with a drink or a stolen lazy afternoon with a book, sharing the swing in perfect silence, her head resting on his shoulder or his chest or in his lap, all the while feeling his sensitive fidgety fingers playing with her hair or her ear or rubbing her cheek, occasionally sliding down her neck, sneaking their way under her shirt, his lips resting on her temple or in her hair...

_Why is it always the simplest things we remember so well, but never realize how important they are when they are happening? And would we have done anything different had we known back then how much they’d mean to us one day...?_

Was there anything she could have done differently this morning? – Before she hastily gathered her clothes and rushed out of the door without as much as looking back, too busy trying to not see the hurt in his eyes and his inconvenient erection under the sheets, looking away, feeling almost sorry for him – for them, for herself...

She did kiss him though, briefly on the lips, as if an afterthought; he did not say anything and it hurt the most.

\---

The sun is high in the sky by the time he finally pulls himself together enough to sit up and look around, his eyes sore and out of focus... Nothing has changed, except for the room getting brighter in sharp contrast with the darkness eating up on his mind with every minute that she’s been gone... He inhales sharply, deliberately taking in the air that was charged with her presence only a few hours ago, frantically looking for any traces of her, anything she might have left behind – but all he’s left with are a few new pieces of reddish hair that he knows he will be finding for a while yet and he’s not sure how he’s going to handle that...

He stumbles out of bed, unable to take the memory that it’s holding for him any longer, and debates for a moment whether he should shower or just hold on to the foolish notion of still having her handprints all over his body, her very essence on his skin...

\---

She fumbles for her keys with nervous hands, inwardly scolding herself for being so reckless and unorganized. She wasn’t always like that. Her life was falling apart in front of her eyes and she had nothing and no one to hold on to anymore... Finally she manages to get a hold of the key and almost regrets it as soon as she does, because she knows that it will only open the door to her empty, impersonal apartment where there are _no_ reminders of the fact that she did once have a great love in her life...

She closes the door behind her and slides down to sit on the floor and catch her breath, her back leaning on the doorframe, her head falling in her hands, her hair running through her fingers like untamed streams of wild water coloured in sunset... She stopped cutting her hair when she stopped caring. Too busy running to care. Running away from his darkness – only to be faced with her own that had followed her the whole time, heeling at her feet like a fox.

She’s breathing heavily, exhausted by her escape as if she had actually run on foot the whole time... Finally she manages to take a couple deep breaths and as her heart steadies, the walls of self-preservation slowly crumble from within, leaving her sobbing on a pile of debris.

\---

He feels his mouth getting dry again and licks his lips with the memory of last night. His tongue hits the slight lump on his lower lip where she bit him with such unexpected force. He touches it with his thumb and smiles to himself. Then he bites down to reopen the wound, the sharp pain and the taste of his own blood oddly bringing a momentary sense of relief. Then memories of her lips on him flood his mind again and he makes his way to the shower, unable to face them anymore...

\---

She takes in the heartbreaking emptiness surrounding her and wonders how on earth did she end up like this.... How did the young, innocent and bright-eyed Dana, who grew up in her mother’s house always filled with people, the humming voices of friends and strangers reaching her ears and soothing her while she was spending most of the days in her attic room studying or living in the fantasy world of a book, turn into the self-assured and independent young Dr. Scully with her own classy apartment, plain and functional, neatly decorated with a surprisingly girly style, only to end up living on the run and hiding in obscure places to be with the man she loved, eventually getting this old house of their own with a promise to fix it up and maybe still build some kind of a _home_ – only to watch all of those hopes and dreams burn down to ashes right in front of them, while they were too busy denying the reality to notice...

The sense of nothingness is surreal and all-encompassing and she needs to find a way to get away from it. To save herself. To busy herself with work, with banal everyday chores, pretending that any of that matters, the way she always has... She needs to wash off last night – the overwhelming sadness and heartbreak over the loss of her mother only briefly covered with a thin sheet of _his_ compassion, the comfort of his arms, his skin, his lips... For a moment in time she felt detached from all of her heartache, alive and strangely at peace... But what it really was, was just dressing her raw wounds, adding a layer after layer of complacency – only to rip them off again when reality set in, leaving her feeling sticky and clammy. She could swear that she could still smell his seed on herself and just the thought of it was unbearable to her.

\---

He’s letting the water beat down on his sore body, bringing a sense of numbness to his skin, but not to his heart. His mind is in overdrive, images of her playing on a loop, her lips parting for his tongue, her tongue licking his skin, her hands on him... He needs to find a way to push them away, to get rid of them, to find a release... He tries desperately to bring it upon himself, to find comfort in his own touch, but there’s no way his numb fingers can replace hers and he’s wondering if anything ever will... If there’s anything in this whole damn world that could ever make him come alive again the way she did so naturally, without even trying. She _was_ his life, plain and simple.

\---

“ _Sssssssssh*t_ ,” she hisses as the hot water hits her too sensitive skin, her hands instinctively going to her sore nipples to soothe them with a gentle touch... She’s standing in the shower for several minutes, trying to adjust to the heat of the water while resting her cheek upon the still cool tiles to find some relief, to gather her thoughts... She gives herself over to the water completely, her ultimate cure for anything in all forms... But while it does miracles in relaxing the tension of her muscles and lulling her body into a state of sweet weightlessness, it does nothing for her heavy heart and shattered soul.

\---

There’s a shrill ring of the phone and she knows that it’s him... She doesn’t even bother to get out of the shower, too busy wallowing in self-pity. She can’t talk to him. She knows that he would be talking to her in a hollow tone and there would be uncried tears behind his steady voice and she just can’t take it. There’s nothing he can say to make the pain go away. Because she’s the one inflicting it on herself. She did this to herself. She didn’t have to go there, she didn’t have to let him in. She could have just gone on with the empty existence of the past two years – doing her job of saving lives of others while barely surviving her own from day to another lost day…

So she lets the phone ring, knowing all too well how it’s gonna go: he will call, she won’t answer, he won’t leave a message... They will be playing this game until one of them gives up. She knows it won’t be her. And she finds herself hoping that it won’t be him, either.

 

***

 

_Hello? Is there anybody in there?_

_Just nod if you can hear me._

_Is there anyone home?_

_Come on, Come on, Come on,_

_now, I hear you're feeling down._

_Well, I can ease your pain_

_Get you on your feet again._

_Relax. I'll need some information first._

_Just the basic facts._

_**Can you show me where it hurts?** _

_There is no pain you are receding_

_A distant ship's smoke on the horizon._

_You are only coming through in waves._

_Your lips move but I can't hear what you're saying._

_When I was a child I had a FEVER_

_My hands felt just like two balloons._

_Now I've got that feeling once again_

_**I can't explain, you would not understand** _

_**This is not how I am.** _

_**I have become comfortably numb.** _

_O.K. Just a little pin prick. There'll be no more aaaaaaaaah!_

_But you may feel a little sick. Can you stand up?_

_I do believe it's working, good._

_That'll keep you going through the show_

_Come on it's time to go._

_There is no pain you are receding_

_A distant ship's smoke on the horizon._

_You are only coming through in waves._

_Your lips move but I can't hear what you're saying._

_When I was a child I caught a fleeting glimpse_

_Out of the corner of my eye._

_I turned to look but it was gone_

_I cannot put my finger on it now_

_The child is grown, The dream is gone._

_**But I have become comfortably numb.** _

_~ Pink Floyd: Comfortably Numb_

_<https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=y7EpSirtf_E> _


	6. Her Protector & Her Endangerer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ...because the one thing he could not protect her from – was himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day three - I rise.  
> The sun however does not.  
> Piles of dust sprinkled on my memories  
> Like sugar snowing on the sweets  
> And only then "It will be all good" they say  
> It is not. 
> 
> Off for the bathroom.  
> Blindly. By touch.  
> Not recognizing things -  
> \- a towel... a sink...  
> ...and there - your shoes  
> Under the heater  
> Still drying 
> 
> I will lie on the floor  
> NOT dying  
> That's the worst of it all...

 

 **VI. Her Protector & Her Endangerer ** 

 

She steps out of the shower, water dripping from her hair and down her breasts as she’s standing in front of the mirror, watching her face intently. How much she has changed… There’s no more wide-eyed innocence and wonder, her eyes that used to be a deep sparkling shade of blue, always laced with natural curiosity and wit, are now hollow, her eyelids heavy, framed with dark circles and a web of lines that seem to be cutting deeper with every passing day… There are still freckles on her nose, cheeks and forehead, but some of them seem to be turning into ugly age-spots and it takes so much longer to cover them each morning.

She rolls her eyes slightly at that sight... She doesn’t even remember when this change occurred. But one day, long lost in the blur that her life had become, she found herself buying an “ _age defying_ ” foundation in place of her “ _translucent nude_ ”. She can’t remember making a conscious decision of it – it just happened... Like so many things in her life... _Out of her control_... Something that she always feared the most was happening to her now, at an age when she would think she’d have had her fill of this nonsense...

She was never vain, never one to be too bothered by her looks - not as a girl, the ginger tomboy that she was, growing up with two boys who had other interests, and girly things were something left for Melissa, who was, after all, the pretty one; and certainly not as a grown woman, her life too busy and fast-paced to be bothered to examine her face and take the time to put make up on... Yes, she did try to look “presentable” when she went to the office, more an act of putting on yet another protective layer than going for a certain look. Putting an artificial face on her "naked” one served as a shield against the world, protecting her other, vulnerable self, rising a wall to keep others out, including Mulder... And even that usually only entailed putting on a light layer of primer, some eyeliner on her upper eyelid, eye-shadows only if she felt especially creative or daring. Powder, blush, a touch of lipstick, usually in nude tones, though she did own one in her “signature” red that she knew Mulder liked and called “ _cherry lips_ ” in those rare moments when he felt at ease enough to “ _do the relationship thing_ ” as he would derogatively call it, as if it was a bad thing to pay a compliment to someone you love...

Which she _knew_ he did. There was never a question in her mind as to whether or not he ever loved her. She _knew_ that he did. He had proven it over  & over throughout the years – he had always been there for her the best he could, holding her hand through the darkest hours, refusing to let go even if she would fight him to get free; he wouldn’t let go of his firm grip on her, wrapping his strong arms around her to hold her together when she was falling apart, getting her out of trouble almost as many times she did him. She _trusted_ him with her life, knowing that he would always have her back, ready to give his own life or his career for hers at any given time. She _knew_ or has learned over the years that he did in fact have mad _respect_ for her – the one thing that he even learned to express. He would never miss an opportunity to talk her up in front of their colleagues or superiors. He’d praise her for her unfaltering work on their cases, basking in pride, because her work was his work as well, his awe with her sharp mind and skills far beyond the medical field always noticeable in his deep steady eyes, never leaving hers when she shied away from the unexpected compliments; his warm voice and his words filling a void in her heart, the emptiness left by her father and the words he’d never spoken to her, words she’d always yearned to hear...

 _"You are good enough. You did a great job. I am proud of you. I am so thankful to have you by my side. You matter... **I love you**._ ”

But moreover, there was this unspoken _gratitude_ that she could read in his eyes – telling her that he _was_ indeed thankful to have her by his side, that she _was_ in fact his “ _one in 5 billion_ ” – and he was hers. It was a given, _an unspoken truth_ between them, the only truth they knew. They didn’t need to say it in order to know & believe it. That was a thing between them – as if they’d shared a secret that only they knew. It has always been that way, from the moment they had shared a night in that motel room in Oregon 23 years ago, the one time he opened up his heart to her, pouring out his sadness and loss and grief – her walls opened up and took it all in, locking it deep inside, a _shared secret_ , making him a part of her. Little did she know, the bright-eyed, fresh-faced, innocent youngling that she was, that by doing that she’d set her foot on a path she’d still be walking two decades later, that she was sealing a pact, creating a bond that made them feel special and protected, locked in their own bubble that no one could penetrate, because only they held the key...

Sometimes she thought of it as a spell that would always shield her from any form of danger, as long as he was around... All it took was to look into his eyes and find the soothing serenity of grey, pulling her in and wrapping her in a safety blanket, making her feel complete. That’s what he’s always been to her – _her protector and her endangerer_ – because the one thing he could _not_ protect her from – was himself.

\---

They had developed such a great way of communicating without words over the years that they have come to a whole different level of understanding. They communicated by looks and touches. They could read each other’s heart rate and the little changes in the tone of their voices signaling trouble... They didn’t need to tell each other a thing – they just _knew_. They have tried to explain it to others on several occasions, but always found themselves failing, as if even that was beyond words...

But what was a great blessing at work and made them such an excellent team when in the field, has proven to be a curse in their personal relationship... There were times when they _needed_ to talk, desperately, in actual words, but neither one of them knew how... They never learned. And though she used to demonstrate much better social and communication skills before she met him to follow him into the depths of darkness, that only seemed to apply to other people, never to him. It was as if they had a secret pact of _not_ talking, as if they were afraid that if they were to introduce words into their safety bubble, it would burst, the unspoken relationship that they had for years crumbling and falling apart right before their eyes... They were both holding the key to all of their secrets in their hands, but refused to let them out – to let each other in.

\---

The fact of the matter was that over the years of living together in more or less chosen seclusion from the outside world they have lost contact with other people – and gradually, with themselves and each other. And while he claimed to be “ _happy as a clam_ ” in his little cocoon of newspaper clippings, bizarre artifacts and piles of old files and notebooks filled with his messy scribbling page after page, she had eventually found herself suffocating with the lack of contact with the outside world, yearning for some human interaction, something as simple as a talk with a friend, going out to eat or to the movies... Things she never knew she was missing when their work used to be her only life. When they still had each other, were wrapped in each other and the outside world didn’t matter, didn’t exist. Before their bubble burst and the world poured in, taking them by surprise.

Years had flown by, they made different choices, drifting apart, and suddenly she found herself all alone...

 _He_ has always been her only friend. The one she trusted _completely_ , the one who knew _everything_ about her and let her know everything about himself. For them the saying about two people becoming one applied so absolutely... And yet, she couldn’t take being “one” with him anymore. She needed to be her own person. As did he. But every day she could feel being dragged deeper and deeper into his darkness and the look into the open abyss was scaring the living hell out of her...

So she did the only thing she knew – she _ran_...

\---

Another sharp ring of the phone pulls her out of her reverie. Her head snaps and against her will her heart starts to race, her pupils dilate, her breath catches in her throat... _Damn him for still doing this to me,_ she thinks to herself as she debates, once again, whether to answer or not. It has to end sometime, it should, anyway, but she knows that they are both too damn stubborn to let it go... Besides, she doesn’t want to let it go... But what she does want she doesn’t know...

The ringing continues until the answering machine picks up before she can make up her mind. Her mind is not her own to make up anyway...

She’s expecting the clicking sound of Mulder hanging up, but instead there’s a warm female voice pouring out of the phone like honey – and for a second she thinks she’s dreaming it, it sounds so much like _Melissa_...

In one leap she crosses the room and grabs the phone.

“ _Yes_ ,” she breathes impatiently, equally excited and thankful for any form of distraction she can get.

“ _Dana?_ ” the voice says and it finally registers with her brain.

 _"Monica!”_ she exclaims excitedly. _Oh dear Monica..._ She hadn’t heard that voice in years!      

“ _I almost didn’t recognize you_ ,” she speaks her mind and there’s that genuine girly laughter on the other end of the line.

“ _Wait till you see me_ ,” she chuckles, “ _which is why I’m calling_ ,” she cuts right to the chase. One of the many things she liked about Monica – she wasn’t one to play games.

 _“How about a girls’ night out?_ ”

Scully smiles to herself. That’s Monica for you. You may not see her or talk to her for years – and then she just turns up, out of nowhere, to take you out & pick up where you left off. There’s an easiness about her that Scully loves and feels attracted to as we tend to be to something we know we lack. She feels a surge of excitement at the rare opportunity to get out of this apartment that’s never been a home and into the world again, to go out for a cup of coffee or a dinner and maybe even a few drinks... Her mind is drifting away, trying to remember the last time she did something – anything – even remotely close to this... And drawing a complete blank...

“ _Dana, you there?_ ” – the voice snaps her out again and she confirms “ _yeah, uhm... hm..._ ” She’s so distracted... Is there ever going to be a time in her life when any simple conversation, any memory won’t inevitably end up with _him_ on her mind...?

“ _Are you alright?_ ” Monica asks again and her sweet voice filled with genuine concern pours over Scully like warm summer rain, soothing her aching heart with a gentle touch, washing off the weariness, bringing life and new hope. It feels so good to have someone care for you... And yet...

“ _I’m fi..._ ” she starts with her automatic response, practiced so well over the years, stopping herself before Monica manages to interrupt.

“ _Don’t you try that with me!_ ” she says half-sternly, but Scully can hear her smile even over the phone...

 _Oh Monica_... she truly had a sixth sense and could definitely call your bluff when you weren’t honest about your feelings... In some ways she was so much like Mulder - sharp, no-nonsense, unafraid  & unconventional. She believed in all kinds of crazy, but _unlike_ him, she always remained grounded, both of her feet planted firmly in the solid ground, always in touch with what really mattered in life. And if ever put in front of a choice between her work and her life – she wouldn’t hesitate a second. She was so full of life and loved it too much to give it away... Scully wished for a second that she were more like her. That she had made different choices in her life... That she wasn’t in this position now...

“ _Actually_ ,” she sighs, “ _I could really use a friend..._ ”

 

****

 


	7. Always Uphill

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Talking about them is like praying for them..."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> She's taking it down in cap size increments  
> She'll have one more, take her medicine  
> She hopes for some more and soon she will pray  
> Today's tomorrow, tomorrow's today
> 
> She ties, ties, ties her self in knots  
> She's down at the bar taking some shots  
> One leads to four and four leads to five  
> She's numbing herself till I'm not alive
> 
> I pamper myself with a couple more  
> The streetcars sound like the waves on the shore  
> The traffic tide pulls me slowly away  
> Today's tomorrow, tomorrow's today
> 
> I won't be coming down,  
> I'm busy mending my broken heart  
> I lie, I lie, I lie, you don't need to start  
> I dumb myself down, thinking it's smart  
> Maybe we're better off alone and apart
> 
> I was wrong  
> You were wrong  
> In each others eyes  
> I was right  
> You were right  
> in our own eyes
> 
> I stare at the bottles with canceled eyes  
> The drunks, the dogs, and the children  
> have truth in their lies  
> I'd hope one would come and show me the way  
> Today's tomorrow, tomorrow's today
> 
> I'm stumbling home gonna pay the price  
> I'll try not to be cold, I'm gonna make it nice  
> I poured my heart out with the bottle I've filled  
> Walking home to you is always uphill 
> 
> White Buffalo: Tomorrow's Today  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=K6Ro6ZiRtno

 

 

**VII. Always Up** **hill**

 

“ _I’ll pick you up tomorrow after work,_ ” said Monica cheerily when she called last night to confirm their date. 

That was 12 hours ago – and there was still at least another 8 to go... Scully sighs as she sips her dark coffee and nibbles on a tasteless cookie from the hospital cafeteria. Her eating habits have never been great with her line of work, but they have slipped completely ever since she’s been waking up alone again. She still takes her vitamins with a glass of water every day, out of habit, not that she really cares. Her body aches, but she welcomes the physical pain pushing out the heartache, even if only for a while. She still runs before heading to the office, she runs for her life, hoping that the rush will help her forget, but what it does is only make her miss him more. She misses her mornings with her Mulder, even his morning grumbling self – just eating breakfast with him and reading the newspaper in silence made her feel complete. Made the world feel right.

She had tried to keep that habit – out of sensibility more than sentiment. She would still sit down with her orange juice and newspaper. But she couldn’t be bothered with coffee and toast. That was his thing. And honey and milk... And way too often she’d start reading an article aloud to share with him – only to look up and see her painfully empty immaculate kitchen with a useless spare chair... Sometimes she wondered what was harder – for him to be left in their house with the constant reminders of their past – or for her to not have a single thing to speak for what they have had... She chose it that way. She thought it would be easier. But who was she kidding – she never needed things, places and mementos to remind her of him – he’s always with her, never far from her thoughts or her heart. He _is_ a part of her – the part that is missing now... And sometimes, at night especially, she can feel the darkness and chill pour into the cracks of her soul where he used to reside...

\---

All day at work she felt giddy like a school girl getting ready for her first date. She was aware of how silly it was, but couldn’t help it. She had not been out of the house other than for work in months... She couldn’t remember the last time her & Mulder went out on a date – if ever. There were a few getaways, desperate attempts to keep them going, to pull him out of the darkness, to return the light to his eyes. And hers. They did have some great times – their love would flare up in their double hunger and for a few sacred moments they’d allow themselves to believe... But then the flame would flicker and die as soon as they set foot back in the house. There was too much darkness to be lit up by a single candle. Sometimes she wondered if it wasn’t just the house. She learned to like it, it _was_ the only place aside from her mother’s house where she ever felt at home, even now – but what if it _was_ haunted, or cursed after all?

She couldn’t believe she was really thinking like that... Luckily it’s a busy day and she doesn’t have a chance to think too much... She’s good at what she does, set in her routine, sharp, organized, in charge. She loves her job, always has. Maybe a little too much, she thought at times. There was a time, hundreds of light years ago, when she would have traded all of that for a peaceful life and a family of her own. But that wasn’t her lot in life. So here she is, doing what she does best. Compensating, denying, grieving. Still.

At 2 o’clock she pours herself a tall glass of apple juice and digs out a little packet of instant oats - that's what her life has shrunk to. Quick solitary meals. No sense in cooking when there is no one to share your meal with. She'd banished people from her life, because they only distracted her from her grief... How pathetic... How was she any different from him? Not much. That’s why they couldn’t be together.

\---

As the day goes by, she grows inexplicably worried about how tonight is gonna go. She feels unprepared. She doesn’t like it. Life out of her control... She hates what she has become – a shell of the confident, self-assured woman that she used to be – always standing tall, despite her actual height, walking proud, with her head high.

That’s one thing he gave her – confidence. Belief in herself. Their life might have been crazy, but he always made he feel capable of handling anything. – Not that she had a choice. She could not allow herself to falter. So she didn’t. She wouldn’t. He wouldn’t let her. And, she admits to herself with certain hesitation and a pang of nostalgia, he did make her feel pretty. Not in terms of physical beauty, though she knew that he did have appreciation for her toned legs and arms, her smooth skin and her soft red hair – he loved especially the hair and especially her freckles, she remembers with a sigh, but his love and awe and respect for her were based on something so much deeper than her looks... He made her feel strong and capable, he used to be her mirror in which she could see her own strength and determination. He needed her to be that way. – So she was. For him. With him. Always. Until the mirror broke, the light flickered and died and what was left was darkness swallowing them both...

Maybe that’s what she misses the most, she realizes regretfully. He’d always admired her courage, her integrity, her sharp mind and her gentle soul. There were times when he made her feel wanted and appreciated – and she missed it so much when he stopped telling her, when he stopped talking to her, when he stopped sleeping with her, when he left – though _she_ was the one who walked away from him (and he will never forgive her, nor can she forgive herself), she was leaving a shell of the man she fell in love with... His soul and his beautiful mind that she loved so much had left him, leaving them both with emptiness they could not fill and pain they could not heal. What was left were hollow eyes in which she could no longer see herself as beautiful. She did not know how much she needed it, how much she relied on it – until now...

\---

Now with him gone, that source of confidence was gone as well – and she was on her own... And she was getting older and becoming so much more aware of her looks than she cared to. – She thought at first that maybe it was just because of her age, as her heightened sense of self-awareness & self-consciousness conveniently coincided with her turning 50, but it was also the age when she had made the final run for her freedom – and was left alone and technically (highly theoretically) she was “back on the market”. And as far as that thought was from her mind, on some very subliminal, subconscious level it must have taken root & has been adding to her fears & insecurities...

It was just Monica, she knew she didn’t have to put in any extra effort just for her. But she _was_ almost a generation younger and Scully could feel the age difference weighing on her more than she would have wished... And more importantly – all this time Monica has lead her _normal_ everyday life, something she couldn’t possibly feel any further from...

\---

She goes to her therapist, who will express her condolences about her mother and then use her death shamelessly as a bridge to make her talk about “ _all the other losses in your life_ ”... Scully knows that she’s been trying to make her talk about William – still, always.

“ _You really need to talk about that one_ ,” she says...

But to whom? Her mum is dead. – Her heart aches with the realization that has not quite set in yet... She can’t talk to her brothers and even two decades after losing her sister she misses Melissa more than ever... And Mulder... _Oh Mulder_.... Talking about them is like sending needles through her heart...

“ _Talking about them is like praying for them_ ,” says the therapist, “ _it’s good for the heart._ ”

And then: “ _Do you remember telling me about all the times you almost lost him...?_ ”

– As if she could ever forget...

“ _I almost lost myself,_ ” she says defensively, surprised by the harshness in her own voice... What has become of her...? “ _I **have** lost myself,_ ” her voice softens and she’s looking at her hands folded in her lap, trying to blink away her tears before she looks up with cold determination again.

“ _And anyway, I don’t pray anymore..._ ”

\---

Afterwards she treats herself to a hair appointment – an indulgent, impulsive decision she made on a whim, out of the need for change, another futile attempt to escape the past... It’s taking longer than she expected and she’s growing impatient, second thoughts gnawing at her as she continues to look at herself in the mirror, laughing inwardly at the reflection staring back at her – strands of hair wrapped in aluminum foil making her look like an alien. _What a joke,_ she thinks to herself, _Mulder would like that..._ Then banishes the thought, walking out with an illusion of leaving the past behind, starting with a clean slate, with new possibilities, a new life waiting outside – crazy and beautiful – a kind of life that she had no idea existed...

\---

Monica’s waiting already, pacing the stairs of the headquarters, talking on the phone. There’s a quicksilver quality to her, her abundant energy making her move in all kinds of directions... One more thing that reminds Scully of Mulder, his fidgetiness, his boyish unrest... They see each other from afar, both of them raising their hands to wave as they approach each other eagerly, their professional stride almost turning into a run just before they fall into each other’s arms.

Scully had always felt ambiguous about physical contact – as if allowing herself to be that close to someone was crossing a boundary that could not be un-crossed, allowing herself to get vulnerable, something she could not afford. She would hug her mum or Melissa and find comfort in the closeness, but would also always be the first to pull away, afraid that letting the embrace linger would be admitting to weakness. And she definitely wasn’t weak, she was always in control.

It was different with Mulder – as distant and closed up as he was when it came to talking about his feelings, he had always been very tactile – hovering close enough to her to be able to reach her with a whisper, to pat her shoulder, touch her arm or grab her wrist to get her attention. Even very early in their professional relationship he’d gotten into a habit of resting his big warm palm on the small of her back, barely touching it, but the heat of it irradiating, crawling up her spine, making her warm and flushed, acutely aware of his presence and of how much she was actually enjoying it... She would lean into him, inadvertently at first, but soon enough found herself looking for comfort in his touch and finding support and solace in his arms. She had allowed herself to fall into his solid frame long before she allowed herself to fall _for_ him. To love him.

She won’t do it this time. She won’t pull away, enjoying the simple warmth of another person’s body so close to hers, something that she’s been probably craving the most these days. Her mind is drifting off to Mulder and for at least a few moments she can pretend that it’s him holding her and there’s no harm in it and she’s fine with that. So she’s still holding on to Monica when she pulls away slightly and kisses her on the cheek. Scully returns her kiss and they greet each other excitedly, both appreciating each other’s looks and taking in the few changes...

Monica is still slim and fit, taller than Scully, but the difference is not as noticeable with Scully’s trademark stilettos on, while Monica is sporting practical flats. _That’s probably what working mothers do_ , Scully thinks to herself, an observation without a particular emotion attached to it – just yet. She will analyze it later... Monica’s eyes are big, brown and bright, _the way Mulder’s used to be_ , Scully thinks with another prick at her heart – she just can’t seem to help comparing those two... Monica is scrutinizing her face, looking for clues of what has happened to her in the time they have not seen each other; Scully knows it and she lets her, though she has to fight the urge to avert her eyes, as if she was ashamed of the way she has aged...

“ _Your hair looks good_ ,” Monica muses, her smile never leaving her eyes. “ _It’s... it’s different – makes you look fresh... new..._ ” There’s an unspoken question at the end of her sentence... Something that may or may not be finished later. A new beginning perhaps...

“ _Thank you,_ ” Scully replies in an almost shy voice. She is so not used to this. She can’t remember the last time she had discussed her hair or any of her looks with another woman. The last time she had a girlfriend... Possibly college, but even then her relationships were mostly professional, sliding on the comfortable surface of social function chit-chat. And all of her navy base schools are long forgotten, buried with everything and everyone else she’d lost... She tries to smile, but her eyes betray her sadness and Monica is painfully aware of it.

“ _Wait till you see where I’m taking you_ ,” she says excitedly, dismissing any awkwardness before it may occur. They get into her Suburban, Scully trying not to notice the booster seat and toys scattered in the back, taking a deep breath and steadying herself on the door before getting in. Monica notices that and doesn’t say anything. _What is there to say, anyway_. They both know.

She navigates the traffic with an ease of a skilled cop and the conversation with the tenderness of an experienced investigator. They float on the surface for the time being and Scully finally allows herself to relax, letting someone else take the lead. Just as she’s getting comfortable, the car comes to a stop in one of the dark alleys in a seedy quarter of the city and she gives Monica a questioning look.

Monica smiles and gives her a wink. “ _Best tacos in town_ ,” she shrugs her shoulders, dismissing the slight disapproval in Scully’s posture. Scully looks around, seeing groups of young fresh-faced office people that she once used to be flock around the place, making her feel so incredibly old and out of place. A feeling quite new to her, though becoming awfully familiar these days. She tries to analyze it, tries to picture what the place will look like on the inside, tries to find arguments why she shouldn’t be here, but just the mention of tacos actually makes her feel hungry – for the first time in days – and she finds herself faltering, reeling from her common sense decision, letting Monica take over the reins completely.

 ---

The place is just as she imagined – dark, loud, filled with more than just cigarette smoke and testosterone, shamefully young chicks in tight see-through numbers, net stockings and f*ck-me pumps as well as perfect gentlemen with hungry eyes dressed in Armani suits. Once again she’s reminded of a very young Mulder and one of their first encounters at a bar, both of them still not quite grown into their own bodies and awkward ill-fitting suits, her 28 year old self with untamed hair and curious mind, stubborn and proud, not letting him buy her a drink, but allowing his hand to rest on her back and linger for the following two decades...

She can feel the looks on them as they make their way to the bar, but her walls are up, she’s sheltered, locked inside, cool and collected, Doctor Dana Scully at a bar, at 6pm, having a drink with a friend – nothing to see here... Monica orders two gin-tonics at the same instant and with the same ease she slides her shoes off and the drinks arrive just the way Scully likes them – with cucumber and rosemary, immediately making her feel more generous and forgiving to this place.

“ _Cheers_ ,” Monica clicks her glass on Scully’s and they take a sip, the alcohol sliding smoothly down her throat and the greens pleasing her taste-buds. She closes her eyes momentarily, trying to steady herself, to collect her thoughts, to decide on her next move before things get out of hand. It’s funny how out of her element she feels here, how she’s grasping on leads, lacking the so needed sense of control. The alcohol isn’t helping – but it is, in its own way. It’s soothing and she needs it...

Their tacos arrive, perfect and enticing and with the first bite she feels comforted and satiated in a very basic way that she didn’t know she missed. She likes it, the plain “ _normalcy_ ” of it all, two friends sharing a meal at a bar on a Friday night, and decides to just enjoy the moment, take in the fact that she’s here with another human being, a friend, someone who’s willing to spend time with her, someone who knows her, other than Mulder, someone to whom she is her own entity and most importantly, someone who is still in touch with the life out there...

Bright-eyed Monica, her former colleague and a brief improbable girlfriend, talking about work, about John, about Johnny and Jake, about being a working mum... the everyday life Scully knows nothing about.

She does ask about her mother and about William and navigates the subject with caution and care, threading the waters of grief with sensitivity of a mother, a friend and a the woman that she is. She _was there_ for all of the heartache, she was the one who helped William come to this world, if only by holding Scully’s hand while she did all the work, by talking to her and soothing her thirst. She was also there when Scully gave him away. She keeps stealing glances at her as she tries to get to her point, as if checking for pulse... Scully gives her a slight nod and a small smile that never reaches her eyes... Feeling encouraged, Monica takes the leap...

“ _He’s 15 now, you could find him, you know...” s_ he says finally. _“ **He** could find **you**._ ” She keeps smiling at her encouragingly, squeezing her hand.

Scully’s eyes widen with the realization, then fill with tears and her face crumples.

“ _What for? A wrecked home?_ ” she hisses through her heart-shattering sobs...

Monica’s arms wrap swiftly around her shoulders, taking her into a tight embrace. It’s not Mulder’s broad chest and strong arms that would steady her and ground her, it’s soft and tender and soothing. And then there’s her voice in her ear, Melissa’s voice and her therapist’s voice all in unison:

“ _You need to talk about him... It’s like cleaning a wound... You know how it works, Dr. Scully..._ ” –

And Dr. Scully _does_ know, all too well, that sometimes the wounds need to be cut open and bones broken to be re-set right. She _knows_ that it always hurts before it gets better. It always, _always_ hurts and Dr. Scully does know all that. But _Dana_ Scully is wondering if there ever was a time when it did _not_ hurt...

_In the beginning.... The first time she held his hand in hers, finally feeling his skin, eying him up, comparing the man to the legend, weighing their possibilities... What has become of them, 23 years later..._

_"So... How **are** you... and **Fox**...?” _ Monica finally asks, carefully weighing the words of a simple question, knowing all too well that there is nothing simple to the answer and that talking about the living is sometimes harder than talking about the dead. There’s a long silence as Scully sips at her drink, tasting his name on her tongue and trying desperately to buy time, to gather her thoughts, to avoid the moment of the truth...

“ _I slept with him_ ,” she then says plainly, with a slight surprise at hearing those words come out of her mouth, as if she’s only now realized what they meant, sounding almost guilty – like a 16 year old whispering her secrets to her girlfriend in a dark corner of a high school corridor. But the exasperation in her voice and in her eyes betrays the years of heartache between the age of innocence and now...

There’s a pause, just long enough for Scully to catch her breath and avert her eyes in anticipation of Monica’s reaction.

 _"Well it’s not like you two have not spent your whole adult life together,_ ” says Monica matter-of-factly. And it's a plain statement devoid of judgement, the assurance & acceptance of which mean more to Scully than she can express...

She finishes her drink in one quick gulp, bracing herself for the greater truth.

 “ _I **love** him_ ,” she says finally with a little more vehemence than she’d like and her eyes fly to Monica, unsure of what she’ll have to say about that...

 “ _I **know** you do_ ,” she says with her hand gently resting on Scully’s, giving her a little squeeze...

“ _I know that you always have. And I know that it has never been easy for you. But it is **alright** to allow yourself to love him. And it’s **alright** to let him love you back..._ ”

She lets the words resonate as the silence flows back. Scully knows that she’s right. She knows that she still _wants_ him – and only him and there’s no way around it. But she won’t allow herself to _need_ him and she can’t let him _need_ her again.

But now there’s Monica with her soothing touch and her sweet whisper, there’s a smooth drink sliding down her throat easier than she’d remembered and there’s a bar full of people & their various fates, each of them nursing a heartache of their own...

So she will talk and cry and drink, taking herself apart to be put together right, cleansing her wound & dressing it up again.

 

 

 


	8. Home Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How can you be nostalgic for something you never had...?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The lights are on, but you're not home  
> Your mind is not your own  
> Your heart sweats, your body shakes  
> Another kiss is all it takes
> 
> You can't sleep, you can't eat  
> There's no doubt, you're in deep  
> Your throat is tight, you can't breathe  
> Another kiss is all you need
> 
> Whoa, you would like to think that you're immune to the stuff, oh, yeah  
> It's closer to the truth to say you can't get enough,  
> You're gonna have to face it—you're addicted to love
> 
> You see the signs, that you can't read  
> You're running at a different speed  
> Your heart beats double time  
> Another kiss and you'll be mine,
> 
> A one-track mind, you can't be saved  
> 'Cause baby your love is all you crave  
> If there's some left, left for you  
> Then you don't mind if you do
> 
> Whoa, you would like to think that you're immune to the stuff, oh, yeah  
> It's closer to the truth to say you can't get enough,  
> You're gonna have to face it—you're addicted to love
> 
> Florence & The Machine ~ Addicted to Love  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=F8VTLUBOcxc

**VIII. Home Again**

 

She slams the door of the taxi cab with a little too much force for her 5’2” and mere 110 pounds that her solitary life had rendered her to, leaving the bewildered taxi driver with too high of a tip _and_ her telephone number.

The air is chilly and the sky is dark, but looking up she can see the stars, always reminding her of the night she was standing next to Mulder, broken after just having lost his mother and still stubbornly refusing to accept the loss of his sister... She found him looking up at the sky the same way she did now, thinking out loud, the way he would around her, always sharing all of himself with her. Until he wouldn’t....

 _“Maybe they are souls, Scully,_ ” he said in his low, contemplative voice, “ _traveling through time as starlight, looking for homes...”_

She’s always liked that thought. She had held on to it in many a dark night – and tonight won’t be any different. She sends a quick prayer to the brightest one. Then she climbs the steps to the front porch with surprising lightness, feeling a little dizzy and in a strange way almost hopeful...

It isn’t until she knocks on the door that the heaviness sets in... _When did he start locking it, anyway?_ – There’s a flicker of light and she can hear his footsteps on the hardwood floors, her heart echoing them, her mind replaying all the times measured by his steps as he paced his way through hallways and motel rooms, the time of their lives...

Then the door opens and her heart skips a beat, panic setting in – and she almost turns around and runs away again, but then her eyes lock with his – their steadfastness her anchor, their depth and innocence her undoing.

He looks a little rough around the edges, unshaved and unkept and for a moment she feels the familiar wave of care and empathy wash over her, she almost feels sorry for him. He’s tall and barefoot in his jeans and an old T-shirt and his lanky frame and weary eyes are still so pretty and she wants to run her hand through his messy hair to see if it still feels the same...

“ _Scully_ ,” he says her name without surprise, but still with a sense of wonder, the way only he can, the way she’s missed and craved all this time, each vowel and consonant a verse of a love song, and it feels like _home_...

He takes a small step aside to let her in. She wavers momentarily at the loss of his closeness, then throws her arms around him, pulling herself up on her toes, grabbing his chin in the small warm palm of her hand and kisses him deeply, almost furiously, knocking the breath out of him and replacing it with hers; her tongue demanding, prodding, looking for his to lock with. She needs him so badly it makes her body shiver and her mind go blank. She feels dizzy and weak and needs something to steady herself on.

He gets the hint and locks her in his arms, lifting her up slightly to deepen the kiss, his hunger flaring up with her taste in his mouth... It’s a taste he does not recognize and cannot connect with any of his memories, carefully catalogued away in the corners of his mind, but one that he could picture himself acquiring from her lips forever... She tastes like rosemary and juniper and it makes his brain go fuzzy. His mind is in overdrive, analyzing, wondering where that taste is coming from, wondering if she can still taste the whiskey on his breath – and then it finally hits him: she’d been drinking - that’s what it was!

It’s a realization that is new and unexpected to him – he doesn’t remember a time in the entirety of their lives together when he’d seen her like that. No, not her, the perfect, immaculate _Doctor Dana Scully_ , always in control, _his human credential_. He does remember way too many times though when he had been the one trying to drink away his sorrow, one night particularly coming to mind – still fresh and sharp almost two decades later...

A memory of Scully telling him that she’s quitting, leaving their quest and him behind, a memory of her sad eyes and pursed lips, her arms crossed in defense, Scully a rock, Scully an island, standing tall in the hallway of the headquarters in all her smallness and vulnerability. Scully handing him his jacket with the kind of self-evident care she always had for him and he never knew he’d missed until she came into his life; Scully wishing him luck... the lack of a goodbye... And then the dim lights of the bar, the numbing pain and the soothing burn of the whiskey warming his insides, the tears pricking his eyes and the night drive to Georgetown, a semi-conscious decision on his part, a random thought, a desperate attempt to bring her back, to change her mind, to make her stay...

Her wide eyes of a deer in the headlights as she opened the door, knowing with the shared certainty that it was him, her tiny frame clad in thin layers of satin (no, he will _not_ stare at her breasts and notice the perk of a nipple – a snap of an image, a memory burnt on the hard-drive of his brain, filed under “ _restricted_ ”); a blur of her scent and her warmth – in his mind and his arms....

It is hard to believe that they are still the same people, still fighting the same battles, still caring for each other so deeply, still held together by the same truths that drive them painfully, desperately, apart. He’s wondering if his 37 year old self could ever have pictured himself now, 18 years later, at 55, still fighting for this woman to stay in his life...

He still remembers the yearning for her and the panic of the possibility of never seeing her again, the desperation that gave him enough courage to finally kiss her – or at least attempt to, the maddening fear of losing her after she collapsed in his arms, the pain, the confusion, the guilt that will never leave him... How much heartache has he put her through... And how much more can she take?

She is here in his arms now, he can feel their mutual heat rising and taste the alcohol mixed on their tongues and he’s trying to imagine how lonely and lost she must have felt to reach for a drink and to reach out to _him_... That is so _not_ her...

He pulls away momentarily to look into her eyes, bright blue pools of anguish and hunger, her expression fuzzy and so damn sexy... Everything about her is so enticing, her fiery lips and soft willing body molded against his so perfectly. She _is_ absolutely stunning in her silk blouse and pencil skirt hugging her curves, her skin smooth under the dim porch light and his fingers, her eyes and her mouth glistening with desire – she actually _wants him_ , he thinks to himself with awe and his heart could burst with the joy of it... And yet – this is _not_ her... Something is off with her – aside from the obvious fact that she showed up on his doorstep at 2am after not talking to him or answering his calls for a week...

He wants her so bad, his body shivers with the memory of the last time he had her, he was with her, in her, burning down with their passion denied for years... It would be so easy to just pick her up and carry her to the bedroom – she is so soft and willing and languid in his arms... His hands are in her hair and his mouth comes crushing on hers, hard, bruising her already tender lips. He can tell by her minute wince, but she’s returning his kisses with the same hungry desperation and for a moment they are too far gone.

And yet - even through his drunken haze and the rush of desire for her, there’s a warning light coming on in the back of his mind: _This is not OK, you’re playing with fire here and if you don’t stop now, you will pay the price..._

He stops abruptly, suddenly sobered up and... _scared_ , actually... He knows damn well that he had run out of second chances a long time ago and he cannot afford to screw up again and let tonight end up like the one last week. He doesn’t think he’d have the heart to watch her walk away again... he doesn’t think he’d survive that kind of heartache yet another time... This time he needs to make her stay...

“ _Wait..._ ” He lets out a sharp breath, as if finally resurfacing from a deep dive, gasping for air... She’s still lost in the moment and grumbles in disapproval, moaning at the loss of him. The sound of her moans sends a shiver down his spine and right to his center, but he braces himself again, grasping her by her shoulders and pushing her away, gently but firmly, keeping her at arms-length, the only way he can trust himself to stick to his resolve.

 _"_ _Scully,_ ” he whispers, his eyes searching hers, willing her to look up at him. She won’t, all she does is squirm in his strong arms, trying to get closer. He knows now for a fact that she is drunk and so lovely uninhibited – the way he’s rarely ever seen her, certainly not in the past years, and it’s a joy and a heartache to be seeing her like that. He rests his palm on the back of her head, pulling her close to him to steady her and presses his lips on her forehead.

“ ** _Katherine,”_** he keeps whispering in his low seductive voice that vibrates through her body, his breath caressing her neck and filling her ear. _“We need to talk,_ ” he stutters through her unrelenting kisses and touches, trying desperately to catch his breath, to steady his voice and his legs, to sound normal, calm and determined. He knows now with a clarity of an impending disaster how much is at stake and that he cannot afford to f*ck up now.

He’s looking into her eyes, a little blurry, but with that sort of determination he’s only ever known in her – the fierceness and courage, the stubbornness of hers... And then her expression changes, a sudden realization crossing her face and before he can figure her out, she shoots out of the room...

\---

It takes him a while to snap out of his surprise and the haze of arousal and follow after her – ending up behind closed bathroom door. For a second he’s feeling foolish, following her to the bathroom and wondering if he should knock, but when he finally hears the heaving sounds coming from the inside, the realization of what’s going on fully dawns on him.

“ ** _Dana_** _, are you OK?_ ” He asks stupidly (if she _was_ OK, she wouldn’t be in this position in the first place...). He does realize the irony of his own words as soon as they leave his mouth and hesitantly turns the doorknob, half-expecting it to be locked. To his surprise, it’s not.

She’s kneeling on the tiled floor, her head resting on the cool porcelain of the toilet bowl, breathing heavily after just having finished vomiting. Her eyes are closed and even if they weren’t, he knows that she’d be avoiding his, feeling embarrassed. It’s not like he had never seen her like that before, but it’s also not the same as if he had been there through her pregnancy, helping her ride out spells of morning sickness, holding her hand of her head or her hair when she needed him... She had been alone way too much through their life “together” and he knows that there are parts of it that he will never be let in on...

And yet – she lets him gently brush her hair off her sweaty forehead and gather her in his arms, all the while stroking her head and her arms softly, making sure that she is alright and humming some kind of reassurance telling her that it’s OK to fall apart.

  

***

 

There’s a smell of coffee and trough the fog in her head she can see the sun peeking in through the heavy shades and then a small plate on the coffee table sitting next to a tall glass filled with something yellow... She props up on her elbows a little – about the most movement she’s capable of right now, cursing herself for whatever she was thinking last night... 

She blinks to focus and recognizes saltines and ginger ale... A wave of nostalgia ripples through her and she smiles a small sad smile as her eyes fill with tears.

_How can you be nostalgic for something you never had...?_

Only then she notices him – sitting in his aged chair on the opposite side of the table, watching her calmly with his hooded eyes... He looks just like the man she fell in love with – except that he is no longer innocent. If he’d ever been. He’s grown old, she can see his weariness written in the lines of his face and the sadness in his eyes, the eyes of their baby boy...

Seeing that she’s awake, he gets up to join her on the couch, sitting down on the edge of it as she scooches over to make room for him.

“ _How are you feeling?_ ” he asks tenderly, running his fingers through her hair, finally noticing the change in the daylight, but not making any comment on it.

“ _Like shit_ ,” she responds frankly, fighting not to break eye-contact...

He chuckles a little. “ _I bet_ ,” he says with that familiar twinkle in his eye, his arm already resting behind her back to help her sit up...

“ _Thank you_ ,” she says with just a little bit of sarcasm, but her eyes tell him what she really means:

_Thank you for everything. For being here with me. For being my home..._

 

***

 


	9. I Forgive You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Would it not be a comfort, just for a time,  
> to believe that we create our own Heavens, and our own Hells...?”  
> /Lancelot/

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It’s been a long year  
> Since we last spoke  
> How’s your halo?  
> Just between you and I  
> You and me and the satellites  
> I never believed you  
> I only wanted to...
> 
> Before all of this  
> What did I miss?  
> Do you ever get homesick?  
> I can’t get used to it  
> I’ll never get used to it  
> I’m under that night  
> I’m under those same stars  
> We’re in a red car  
> You asleep at my side  
> Going in and out of the headlights  
> Could I have saved you?  
> Would that’ve betrayed you?
> 
> I wanna burn this film  
> You alone with those pills  
> What you couldn’t do I will  
> I forgive you. 
> 
> Strays Don’t Sleep ~ For Blue Skies  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1w99Puz8uZs

 

**IX. I Forgive You**

 

The morning of the funeral.

Her world has become a blur that she’s watching through milk glass.

He is there, by her side, her only stable point in the world, his eyes her anchor.

There’s a smell of coffee in the air and it feels like the old times...

They will sit down and have breakfast together before they drive to the cemetery.

He will be there by her side and it will be alright.

She looks into his eyes and suddenly knows it with the kind of certainty he’s always had about him. She attempts a smile. He reaches for her hand.

 _"Ready to go?_ ” he whispers.

Her eyes are soft and thankful. He can see it and wants to pull her in his arms. She looks terrible and yet it’s not taking away anything from her beauty.

“ _I’ll take you home_ ,” he says. And he means _her_ home – where her stuff is, a place he had never been to. The home she had made without him, the thought still distant and unimaginable to him, even after all this time... His eyes fly to hers with a question that she stubbornly refuses to answer.

They drive in silence. Acutely aware of each other’s presence in the confined space of his sedan, but each of them alone with their own thoughts.

\---

There’s a message on her answering machine and she plays it automatically as soon as they enter the room...

A stranger’s voice is calling her _Dana_ and telling her that he would love to see her again... 

He looks at her questioningly, but she refuses to meet his eyes.

 _F*ck_ – is the only thing flashing through her mind. _What else is going to come up to haunt her...?_

Then there’s Monica’s voice, asking her if she had made it home alright and to give _Fox_ her love.

 _Fox_ sits down on her couch gingerly and while she showers and changes he contemplates his sense of not belonging, the staple of his life, painfully obvious and overwhelming. There’s not a thread of him in this apartment – and it feels as if he had ceased to exist. Because, unimaginably, from the moment she set foot into his office 23 years ago, he had only existed through her...

She steps out of the bathroom and he lifts his gentle eyes up to her, taking her in – her tiny form perfectly shaped in a simple black dress, black stockings and high heels. Her hair is pulled back and  she looks so different, so distanced. Her makeup is covering most of last night, but neither one of them has forgotten.

He gets up and helps her into her coat, one of the many simple things they both used to take for granted and missed so much when they ceased to exist. For a moment she falters and leans into him to brace herself as if she had lost balance on her heels. He knows that’s not what it is and they won’t talk about it. She’s holding on to whatever warmth she can get as they step outside...

\---

The rest is a blur. Glimpses of memories. Always.

She wants to be remembering her mother, but the nearness of him makes it impossible for her to not let her mind slip...

 _The losses –_ each name a scar, only barely covering the wounds under the surface, some deep and almost healed, some still hot and raw, pulsing with the same intensity as they did 10 or even 20 years ago...

 _His_ _sister_ , of course... Setting a course of disaster for the twelve year old bright-eyed and brilliant-minded boy, leaving a part of him broken, forever stuck in that moment, plagued by guilt that wasn’t his to bear, but that he could not let go of any more than it did let go of him... And no matter how close or tight she had held him in her arms over the years, she could never hold him quite together. She could never give him enough love to seal the cracks and take his pain away.

 _Her_ _father_ , the Navy Captain, setting her ship a-sail, leaving her with too many words unsaid and the longing for his gentle touch. At 30, old enough to have set on a path of her medical and law enforcement career, but still too young to be sailing the rough seas without her Ahab. She missed her anchor and Mulder’s eyes were her only beacons on the lonely sail to the distant horizon of the unknown.

 _His father_. His undoing. A man of 34 losing his father while not yet being a father himself... The day his father died, he seemed to have lost everything, including himself. She thought she had lost him to the darkness where she could no longer follow him anymore... She held his mother’s hand at the funeral, wishing they had met under different circumstances. Wishing they could have comforted each other. Wishing she could have told her that it was going to be alright. Until she herself would believe it...

 _Her sister._ _Melissa. Oh Missy..._ She died at her place. _In_ her place. How symbolic. Her older bohemian sister, everything that Scully never was, never quite attached to her earthly life, but loving it with all her heart, leaving way too soon in an act of senseless violence aimed at _her,_ leaving Scully with a sense of guilt she couldn’t shake off, not even in Mulder’s arms, the arms of a man who knew the first _and_ the last thing about loss... They were both too broken to be able to fix each other.

 _Emily_... Her Christmas miracle, a glimpse of light and hope in the bleak midwinter of her lonely life, her presence bringing a brief sense of joy and purpose, only to be taken away from her again, like everything that was ever dear to her – the price you pay for love... To this day she remembers with aching clarity the beautiful pure light pouring through the stain-glass windows of the church, creating a kaleidoscope of lovely colours on the small white coffin, making her think how ironic it was – and how much Emily would like it... Her family had left the church, but _he_ was there, by her side, his quiet steadfastness and the simple weight and warmth of his hand on her shoulder holding her together, the smell of white roses that he laid on the coffin still bringing tears to her eyes...

 _His mother._ The keeper of the family secrets, taking them to the grave with her. Mulder’s rawest wounds reopened, tearing him apart at the seams. That night she held him close to her heart as he cried on her chest for the last bit of his history being gone...

 _And now hers_ , dying in her arms, William’s name the last word on her lips... An unanswered question, forever breaking her heart.

Of course she thought about _William. Always._ He was a part of her, she carried him under her heart at one time and he was a part of _him_ – the only part she was left with when she thought she had lost him forever. She looks into his eyes – Mulder’s big green eyes always veiled by sadness, even through happy times – and she can see baby William, still. _Always_. Wondering what he’s doing, how he’s doing, if he’s still alive, if he misses her at all... A mother’s heart never forgets. Guilt cuts through her like a dull blade of a knife, not sharp enough to separate the flesh and bone, but just enough to make her wish that she _could_ forget...

Of course she thinks of him. She never talks about him though. She’s afraid to add any more sadness and grief to the misery that their lives have become, afraid that he can’t take any more pain. But they look into each other’s eyes and they _know_ – it’s their silent understanding, forever locked in their heartache – forever each other’s solace and chagrin.

\---

They step outside, the frigid air biting at her face, unaccustomed to the open plains and chilly wind anymore. She clutches at her coat and scarf, pulling it closer to the frail frame of her body, trying to brace herself against the cold. He sees it and wraps his arm around her, pulling her close. She leans in thankfully, letting his warmth envelop her.

_When has winter become so cruel?_

She used to love it – the magic and purity of it – the frost making the air feel crystal clear, the sound of her footsteps on the frozen ground, their rare walks in the first snow in the countryside, hand in hand, watching each other’s breath come out in little clouds... The most eloquent silence between them.

_The sense of comfort and safety they shared for so brief a time..._

Winter used to be their happy time – their “anniversary” of sorts, if there ever was such a thing for them. Their first kiss for one. A real kiss, not just a peck on the cheek or one of their lingering kisses on the forehead. A kiss when their lips met, albeit briefly, a magical moment that, looking back, seemed almost scripted – the fireworks ringing in the new year as his eyes searched for hers, catching them and not letting go. He hesitated for just a little bit, as if looking for an approval, but then she could finally feel the softness and fullness of his luscious lips on hers – at last – and it just felt so right... Her breath hitched and her lips instinctively sealed over his, a sudden overwhelming feeling of joy, making her dizzy, almost drunk, though there was no champagne served in that cold hospital reception that night. Astonished by the new, unexpected sensation of the ultimate closeness, she wanted to make it last, to pull him in, to taste him, suddenly feeling bold an happy and unafraid... And then the moment passed, as quickly as it happened; he pulled away to look into her eyes again, to make sure she was OK... Two years after his first try, the complete failure in his hallway, the desperate attempt to keep her in his life, two years later, 16 years ago, and he was still so insecure...

She wanted to tell him that it had worked. Both times. _Every_ time.

He was looking at her with his kind eyes, soft and always  questioning. _Was it OK to kiss her?_ – She was smiling at him gently and there was something mysterious to her, something new that he never saw before... As if that kiss had unlocked something he had no idea was there... He had been peeling off the layers for over 6 years – and there she was – the **_Dana Katherine_** beyond the _Scully_ , looking at him with naked eyes, her look sliding to his bottom lip, studying it, studying _him_ – as if he was one of the rare specimens kept in a lab to be examined... He wouldn’t know – and couldn’t possibly fathom, that she might actually be asking for more. That she could _want him_ , just as much as he had found himself wanting her...

Oh how shy and scared and innocent they were...

So afraid that “ _to have love was to carry a vessel that could be lost or stolen or worse – spilled blood-red on the ground..._ ”

Not knowing where to go from there, like teenagers parting in front of their parents’ house, hesitant and not daring to kiss again, like fools they just said goodnight at their cars and drove to their respective homes that night...

It took them several months to finally admit to their feelings and let them take their course... It was scary... Absolutely frightening. There was so much more to it than just stripping each other of their clothes – they were letting go of their defenses, taking down their protective walls and pulling off layers of fears gathered over the years... They fell into each other like pieces of a puzzle they both had been working relentlessly to put together for years, suddenly amazed at how natural and right it felt, shocked that it took them so long to recognize the simplest truth:

_That the person who was just a friend was suddenly the only person they could ever imagine themselves with._

\---

It was late fall, winter was already creeping into town with its long nights and howling winds when she was brought back to him after he’d thought he had lost her, 22 years ago...

And it was winter time again 6 years after that when he was brought back to her...

That coming January she gave birth to William... 15 years ago – today.

\---

 _The losses..._  

She had lost Mulder twice, both times in spring, and things were never to be the same...

That one time they were saying goodbye – ages ago, not knowing when they would see each other again. Not knowing that it would be for a very long time. He held her in the hallway of the bureau, shutting out the world in his embrace. They had only just gotten together, their emotions fresh and raw, stripped to the bone. He wouldn’t kiss her on the mouth, but she knew he wanted to, just as much as she did. She was pale and weak, her nerves getting the better of her, an irritating, bridling thought. She had no way of knowing that she was pregnant then. Had she known, she would never have let him go... Had _he_ known, he would never have left.

“ _I won’t let you go alone,_ ” she said then, the words still echoing in her mind.

It was _not_ a goodbye, never a goodbye with him. It was a farewell. Turned out wrong. Like everything else in their lives. The child that could have saved them, the miracle she had prayed for, their son – becoming a curse, a miracle so ephemeral that she couldn’t hold it in her hands. Not without him there.

She didn’t blame him. Of course she did not. And she knew that he didn’t blame her. They have forgiven each other a long time ago. But have they forgiven themselves?

***

They will not go to the family gathering. She kisses her brothers, her sister-in-law, her nephews and niece and turns around to leave, her head bent, his arm wrapped tight around her shivering shoulders. He suggests that they go out to eat – something they haven’t done in such a long time and for a moment her heart flutters with a sad memory of all the things that they did not have or had lost before they could have had them. The “ _could-have-been’s_ ”...

“ _Just take me home,_ ” she says in a colder tone than she intended, but her eyes are pleading. And then there’s the tone in which she said “ _home_ ” – almost longingly... He tightens his hold on her and helps her in her car. He drives. They are quiet, each of them lost in their thoughts, but still thankful for each other’s presence. When they get on the freeway, he reaches out and finds her hand in her lap. He gives her a slight squeeze and she allows him to interlace his fingers with hers, not letting go for the rest of the trip. They’re going **_home_** now.

\---

They walk through the door together, his palm resting gently on the small of her back, the way it’s always been – the way _home_ has always felt.

He had offered to cook (an exaggeration, of course, but an effort nonetheless), but she declined and he knew better than to try to stop her in her desperate need to keep busy in order to silence her racing mind... He knows her too well. Cooking makes her feel “normal”, she used to say. It’s like playing pretend – like she actually does have a life.

She makes her way to the kitchen in her firm stride after kicking off her heels and letting him take her coat, taking a quick inventory of his pantry. She gives him an incredulous but appreciative look when she finds supplies of fruits and vegetables, some cheese, fresh juice and wine.

He notices her look and smiles back, almost proudly, as if it’s the most obvious thing that he would buy stuff that he knows she likes, after years of not setting his foot outside of this house, even if they should starve to death.

\---

Scully in the kitchen. Proficient and efficient. With the same elegant and self-assured moves he had been witness to at many an autopsy bay all over the country and the same way he’s imagining she is in the op-room. Cool and clean like her blue scrubs. Collected and unfaltering. She’s handling the chopping knife with the same steadiness she handles her scalpel, slicing and dicing his vegetables with abandon. There is such grace in all of her well practiced movements, but there is something else – in the way she moves, almost floats through the kitchen, there’s restlessness about her that he had never noticed before, making him wonder momentarily if it’s something that he had brought upon her, along with all the tragedies that have plagued them over the years.

Something in his heart shifts as he watches her with hungry eyes and once again feels the old urge to be near her, to put his hands on her, to feel her pulse and the warmth of her skin on his. Comforted by the sudden feeling of _domesticity_ , something he hasn't felt in such a long time, he gets up, not afraid anymore, walking up to her, gently placing his right hand on hers to steady the knife, his left hand going to her waist as he lets his long fingers splay across her stomach, soft yet taut. Immediately he is reminded of the way it felt when she was pregnant with William. She puts her hand on his and he knows that she’s remembering, too.

And there it is again – the ever present need to take away her pain, to make her forget somehow, to kiss it better...

He pulls her closer and feels her exhale – a mixture of exhaustion, relief and something else entirely – the familiar stirring in her stomach, the age-old yearning...

She leans into him and feels his breath on her face when he whispers suggestively:

“ _I’m not hungry for food anymore...._ ” His voice is raspy in her ear and both of her hands go limp, her knees giving in as he holds her close, his lips on her neck and his hips rocking against her back...

“ ** _Fox,_** ” she whispers faintly, not even trying to resist him.

He spins her around, effortlessly and effectively, his lips on hers instantly, taking in the breath that she just exhaled and giving her his.

Their double hunger flares up, burning them down to ashes again...

But they are 15 years older now – things are different (and yet the same – they still want each other with the same ravishing despair).

They can wait...

\---

They sit and talk. At last. A grown-up talk. There’s tears and there’s kisses and there’s a whole new level of understanding, coming out of the years of losses, heartache and pain... It’s like comparing notes...

“ _I will need time_ ,” she repeats quietly, with her innate defiance.

He locks his eyes with hers and for the first time in all the years that she’s known him for his lack of patience, his passion and relentlessness, he gives her a solemn nod and says slowly, thoughtfully:

 “ _All the time that you need, Katherine_...” and he cups her hand with his as if to seal the deal.

She is touched by the gesture and almost feels like crying again, but then the other feeling takes over...

 _F*ck time_ , she thinks to herself, _we have already lost so much time.._.

And then she’s in his arms again, whispering his name the way only she can, before kissing him deeply, this time with so much more feeling than lust...

He is taken aback, but compliant, how could he not be... Her warm body is perfectly molded into his, her lips are soft and wet, her breath is filling his lungs and they are finally complete again...

It may take time. But they know better now. And they _will_ make it worth their while.

 

***


	10. I Have Called You By Name

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alright, so this is the end... For now... My apologies for the sappy ending, but G*d knows I needed it ;)
> 
> It's been an immense pleasure to be spending the last two months with these two and if there's others out there that feel the same way, it makes me very happy. Thank you for reading and for your comments and please feel free to post prompts or suggestions if there's anything else you'd like to read...
> 
> xx me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I loved you in the morning,  
> our kisses deep and warm,  
> your hair upon the pillow  
> like a sleepy golden storm,
> 
> yes, many loved before us,  
> I know that we are not new,  
> in city and in forest  
> they smiled like me and you,  
> but now it's come to distances  
> and both of us must try,  
> your eyes are soft with sorrow,  
> Hey, that's no way to say goodbye.
> 
>  
> 
> I'm not looking for another  
> as I wander in my time,  
> walk me to the corner,  
> our steps will always rhyme
> 
> you know my love goes with you  
> as your love stays with me,  
> it's just the way it changes,  
> like the shoreline and the sea,  
> but let's not talk of love or chains  
> and things we can't untie,  
> your eyes are soft with sorrow,  
> Hey, that's no way to say goodbye.
> 
> Leonard Cohen ~ Hey, that's no way to say goodbye.  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DQk3wyFG6Fg

**  
**

**  
**

**X. I Have Called You By Name...**

 

_**I have called you by name – you are mine.** /Isiah 43:1/_

 

The morning is bright and warm and full of magic.

If someone walked into their bedroom at that very moment, they would never guess the turmoil they both have been through in these past couple of days and months and throughout the years. There’s peace and quiet, so quiet that you could almost hear the particles of dust dancing in a ray of light and falling upon the two body forms lying there perfectly locked in one another, arms and legs interlaced and tangled between the sheets. There’s a storm of golden hair on her pillow and on his face, reflecting light into her own – a face graced with a serene expression of someone who’s lost in the sweetest dreams, not having a care in the world.

They’re waking up slowly in each other’s arms and it’s the most obvious, natural thing in the world.

She’s been awake for a while, but refuses to open her eyes and let the day in, not just yet. She wants to relish the moment, the nearness of him, his steady breath on her neck as he’s spooning her, his heartbeat echoing through her ribcage in perfect accord with hers.

 _How ironic_ , she’s thinking, _her mum is dead and buried, her life is falling apart – and yet there is such peace in her heart_. She’s in his arms and she can’t think of a safer place she could be. _It’s alright_ , she keeps chanting to herself like a mantra, the three words he whispered in her ear last night before taking her home, taking her upstairs, taking her body and making it his again, taking her pain away the way only he could.

**_It’s going to be just alright._ **

He squirms a little, tightening his hold on her as if making sure that she is still there, checking on her even in his sleep. She can feel her body react to his, every inch that comes in contact with his skin getting tingly and warm, his penis resting upon one of her thighs stiffening, making her smile. It’s so good to know that some things haven’t changed...

She shifts, slowly turning around to face him and is delighted to see him looking at her through his long eyelashes, his bold hazel eyes filled with the same wonder that she’s known him for for so long, a big goofy smile spreading across his handsome face.

“ _Good morning, beautiful,”_ he says with that familiar gleam, his words lazy and suggestive, his voice low, raspy with sleep and desire, his breath catching in his throat as his hands come alive on her body, taking in every last bit of it.

She smiles back at him and they kiss, slowly and passionately; there is no rush and nobody is going anywhere this time, he’s making sure of it...

 _Making love to him_ , she thinks to herself as he slowly moves inside her, _is almost like praying a rosary_ – letting each part of his body slip through her fingers, the same practiced movements, feeling his countless scars bringing back memories, then letting go momentarily, but never for long... She will always be coming back for more. That is one thing she is certain of. As certain as she is of her faith. As certain as she is of this life.

She’s looking into his eyes and falling more in love with him with his every move, every touch, wondering how could she ever have been without him. How did she manage to stay away for so long... and why...

They make love in perfect silence, reinventing each other’s body over and over again, until their passion takes over and they cry out each other’s names.

He’s holding her steady, close to his heart, his arms wrapped tightly around her as she’s coming down from her high, all the time whispering her name in her mouth between sloppy wet kisses, calling her _Dana_ and _Katherine –_ the name sounding like an ancient prayer on their joined lips... She loves when he calls her that – he is the only one in this whole world that ever has – it makes her feel special, exclusively his, just like the fact that she’s the only one who’s allowed to call him _Fox._ There had been so much friction about his name in the past... But that’s the past, long gone and buried – how symbolic. Her mother was the one who started calling him that, in her typical matter-of-fact manner – and it only sounded right from her. It was her simple way of expressing that he _was_ a part of the family – no questions asked. She had accepted him for Dana’s partner, on whatever terms, long before they even really knew what those terms were.

They never spoke of it, but it was one of the truths that didn’t need to be addressed or defined... It was a simple fact... She never told her mum, but she _was_ thankful. 

\---

Later on they’re lying exhausted, facing each other, their bodies glistening with sweat and their whole beings only focused on each other. He’s playing with a strand of her _blond_ hair with a faraway look, his expression quizzical. She is not sure what to make of it, suddenly feeling insecure, the way she always does when she cannot read him like a book. Her hair feels different now – it’s still soft, but slightly frizzy to touch and he’s not sure how he feels about it... He didn’t have a chance to address it yet – so much has happened since the night she showed up at his doorstep, though it was only two nights ago.

“ _You don’t like it..._ ” she says suddenly with mock offense, though her smile betrays her. It’s not an accusation, just a simple statement, but he still feels trapped. He’s known her long and well enough to know that despite her cool exterior even she has her soft spots – and her hair definitely constitutes one. Though she was never one to be afraid to get messy when in the field and to this day she has no problem to pull off a loose braid when she’s at home or in surgery, when she’s at the office her hair has to be just right. He remembers way too well how irked she would get on her “bad hair days”, especially when they were out in the woods or travelling south and the moisture in the air would be the source of a constant inevitable frizz...

The memory makes him smile and he decides to just go with the truth.

“ _It’s gonna take some getting used to_ ,” he says simply, frankly. Her face starts to fall, but he brings his forefinger to her chin to make her look at him and the sparkle in his eye is back as he adds: “ _You know that I’d love you even bald, right?_ ”

And she _does_ know – he _did_ love her the other night after all, didn’t he. Even though she had f*cked up royally! She still feels her cheeks getting flushed just thinking about it... He’d tease her about it to no end, but only after he took care of her and made sure she was alright.

“ _It’s about time that you were the one to f*ck up for once_ ,” he laughed, “ _I was starting to feel really insecure_...” His eyes were laughing, too, and it was a joke, but it wasn’t. And suddenly the realization dawned on her that had never crossed her mind before – what if it really _was_ hard for him to get through to her – through all of her defenses, the air of aloofness, the walls of self-preservation that she had raised again to protect herself after she had left him, the one who’s made it his life goal to protect her... What if this whole time he had been sitting on the sidelines, waiting for her to crack...? To allow herself to show that she _is_ only human, after all... To allow the light to get in...

“ _I had to do something about the grays, you know_ ,” she decides for a playful tone, reaching out to ruffle his hair like you would do to a kid. It is still thick and soft to touch, his own gray streaks making it blossom, only adding to his disarming charm... He’s just lucky that way. _She is lucky, because he is hers_. The realization makes her smile. “ _Shame it doesn’t suit everyone as well as you!_ ” she snorts.

He responds with a smile, too, but his is still somewhat sad, not quite reaching his eyes. He didn’t realize just _how_ significant the red was for him... Being as tiny as she was, her red hair at least made her stand out in a crowd. He could always spot her from afar and somehow the familiar reddish shade of light reflected from her hair had been his beacon for so long that for a moment he’s not sure how he’s going to find his way without it...

He’s lost in a memory for a while, then suddenly his expression changes, his eyes gleaming with the familiar mischievous spark again and without a warning he lifts the covers and swiftly moves along the length of her body until he reaches his goal – the neat patch of auburn hairs – and buries his head between her legs. She gasps at the feel of his hot breath against her skin, her own breath quickening in anticipation. Then there’s the exquisite sensation of his tongue on her clit and she can feel his lips move against her and vibrate with a whisper: “ _You’re always a ginger to me..._ ”

\--- 

They will stay in bed for the rest of the day, snuggled in silent contentment, the world standing still to grant them this precious moment together in time, a memory in the making...

They’re lying on their sides, facing each other, he’s propped slightly on his right elbow, his free hand resting on her hip with self-assurance, a slightly possessive gesture of his that she doesn’t mind at all... She’s surprised at the thought, but she doesn’t mind being owned – not as long as her “owner” treats her right – and that he has been, if only for these past couple of days...

Her head is resting on her left arm, her right one reaching out to play with the soft hairs on his chest. Her eyes are never leaving his, studying his face carefully... Sometimes she wants to crawl inside his head and nestle there, until she figures him all out. She wants to reach into the darkest corners and clean out the cobwebs and fill him with whatever love she has left. That is the one thing he did give her. That nobody can ever take away. He is so near and dear to her – she thought, she wanted to believe, that she knew everything about him – but there are still blind spots and missing pieces of the puzzle that is Fox Mulder and her scientific mind doesn’t like that. Like him, she wants her questions answered...

“ _What are you thinking?_ ” she asks softly, her hand momentarily leaving his chest to travel up to his face, gently stroking his cheek. There is so much tenderness and care in that gesture that his eyes well up with tears. _This woman... this beautiful creature of light and grace is his. **Again. Still. Always**_ , he’s thinking, his heart swelling with humbleness and gratitude. She is his and she cares, she wants to know who he is, as if she didn’t know him by heart already... And yet, he can’t bring himself to do what would seem as the simplest thing: tell her the truth...

 _"Oh, the usual_ ,” he says with a small smirk at the fact that he’s actually quoting himself.

 “ _Destiny, fate, how to throw a curve ball_...”

Himself x years ago, himself already hopelessly in love with Scully, only being too much of a coward to admit it – to her, to himself... Too busy running after the ephemeral vision of _The Truth_ to really see the only truth that mattered...

  _"_ _... **the inextricable relationships in our lives that are neither accidental nor somehow in our control, either**_ , _"_ she finishes in unison with him.

There is a moment of solemn silence as if to acknowledge the monumentality of their connection, of their fate... Neither one of them knows what to say, so once again it will be her who bridges the space between them, pulling his face closer and grazing his lips with hers, ever so softly, gently, but with so much emotion that it brings tears in both of their eyes.

“ ** _I love you, Fox William_** _,”_ she says in a very serious yet soft tone, stressing every word, making sure his name sounds just right. She loves calling him by his full name and she refuses to give in, to let go of it.

He’s cradling her face in his open palm, it’s just the right size to make it fit and she leans into him, relishing the touch.

 _" **I love you too, Dana Katherine** ,_” he says finally and the words flow freely from his mind to his tongue, slipping out so easily... There is no awkwardness, it is just the right thing to do...

23 years. And here they are, finally old enough to feel comfortable to say them out loud...

 _"I know you do,”_ she says kindly, simply, kissing him on the lips and resting her forehead on his.

“ _But I did need to hear you say it, you know...”_

_***_


End file.
